What is Right
by jncar
Summary: William Darcy has a plan to stop George Wickham. He needs Lydia and a car. What he doesn't plan for is Lizzie inviting herself along for the ride. A Lizzie Bennet Diaries road trip AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I've compressed the timeline of Lizzie's videos during the sex-tape arc, having her post 85 on the Saturday after returning home, 86 with Jane on Monday, and 87 with Lydia on Thursday. I did this mostly because I prefer this faster pacing and I don't like the cliché of stopping the bad-guy just in the nick of time. I'd much rather stop him well before the deadline, thank you very much. Much thanks to the wonderful beta work of Kyrie Anne. I expect this to run a total of 2-3 chapters.

It's been one week since Lizzie received Charlotte's frantic call.

One week since Darcy's assistant booked her a flight and called her a car and sent her to the airport.

One week since the website.

"Seriously. Lots of grad students work. I can do it—especially if it's only part-time. This P.I. is charging an arm and a leg. Please. I want to help," Lizzie pleads for what feels like the twentieth time.

Her father grips his mug of tea a little tighter and shakes his head. He looks as worn and tired as she's ever seen him. "Not yet, Lizzie. We have a little savings to dip into. Let me handle things a bit longer. There's still plenty of time to stop this."

Lizzie bites her bottom lip to stop herself from blurting out that the P.I. hasn't done much good so far. And that even if they manage to find George in time it might take formal legal action to stop the tape. Lawyers charge even more than P.I.s.

Maybe the Starbucks in their neighborhood is looking for a new barista? She could do that and still manage her independent studies, couldn't she? She'll pick up an application in the morning.

In the one week since the website, Lizzie has done next to nothing on her independent study. Thinking about Pemberley—remembering what she had to leave behind so abruptly—hurts in an unexpected way, so she does her best to block it out.

Instead, in between calling Jane home and helping her father, she's posted four new videos. They chronicle the moment she received the call from Charlotte, her first terrible confrontation with Lydia (the one that still makes her ache with guilt), her desperate plea to her viewers to avoid the website, Jane's wonderfully soothing return, and, in the video she filmed this morning, another conversation with Lydia.

Since hearing Jane's advice on Sunday, Lizzie has watched all of Lydia's videos. She saw her sister's loneliness and pain first-hand. She watched her being slowly cut off from the people she cared about the most, and then sucked into that painful, abusive relationship.

Lizzie had never felt so sick. She'd never felt so blind. Or like such a failure.

Finally, this morning, as she filmed the most recent video she talked things through with Lydia. She held her as she cried. She told her how much she loves her.

But she's not sure if it will be enough to heal the hurt she's caused.

Whenever she sees Lydia drifting through the halls, her face downcast, Lizzie remembers all the times she called her sister a slut and all the times she's publicly shamed her for her party-girl behavior. Each of those times she pushed Lydia further and further away, and those memories burn like ulcers deep inside of her.

Lizzie has begun to wonder whether it would have made a difference if she'd set a better example of empowered, responsible sexuality for sister. But that was never in the cards.

Somewhere between childhood Sunday school, the four summers of Christian youth camp (with its pro-abstinence exterior and its seedy underbelly of adolescent hormones), and her high school freshman heath class which featured a very graphic slide-show of the physical symptoms of various sexually transmitted diseases, Lizzie had developed a long list of sexual hang-ups.

During her teens she had quietly vowed that only the deepest love (and a commitment to long-term monogamy) would induce her into a sexual relationship. She felt strengthened and validated in her choice when it became apparent that both Jane and Charlotte had made a similar choice.

As a consequence, Lizzie has only had two lovers in her life. And she spent her young adult years looking down her nose at anyone who chose a more promiscuous, "less enlightened," (or so she thought) path in life. Some of her advice and criticism probably was correct, but just as much of it wasn't.

Lizzie feels sick to her stomach as she thinks about it. Why was she so certain that her way was the "right" way? And what damage has she done to her sister in the process? If Lydia hadn't been shamed and criticized at every turn, maybe she would have had more confidence. Maybe she could have stayed closer to her sisters and friends. Maybe she wouldn't have been so vulnerable to someone like George . . . .

Yes. It's hard for Lizzie not to blame herself at least in part.

So she tells Lydia that she loves her, again and again. She tells Lydia not to blame herself. She tells Lydia that they'll get through this together. Because it's all she knows how to do.

She has no other answers, so she sits up, late at night, drinking tea with her father and contemplating a barista career. Because she has to do _something_. Anything to make this right, again.

Though she's not quite sure what _right_ is anymore.

Her father shakes his head. "Go to bed Lizzie. Things will seem better in the morning. They always do."

She wishes she could agree.

When Lizzie slips into her bed, she stares at the bubbling fish tank, and watches the brightly colored tropical fish dart around and the seahorses float near the bottom. When she can't fall asleep, instead of counting sheep, she starts to count her mistakes. All the times she publicly criticized and condemned her little sister. All the times she balked at taking real risks with her life because staying home with her parents and sisters seemed so much easier and safer. All the people she's misjudged—Bing, Caroline, George, Charlotte, Lydia . . . and Darcy.

He's the one person who might actually be able to help. He has the resources, the money, and even some motive . . .

She squeezes her eyes shut. She can't let herself think about him. Not anymore.

As soon as he put his assistant to work on arranging Lizzie's trip home, he'd vanished without even a proper goodbye.

She'd begun to think that he still—no. It doesn't matter what she'd begun to think. All that matters is that he cares too much about protecting his sister to let himself get mixed up with George Wickham, again. No. He won't be coming anywhere near this particular problem.

Lizzie's friendship—or whatever else it might have been—with Darcy is over. She needs to accept that. Now is the time to focus on Lydia. Not on what might have been.

* * *

When Lizzie's new video goes up on Thursday, William watches it as Gigi hovers over his shoulder.

His chest tightens when Lizzie's face appears on his screen, just as it does every time he sees her. But seeing her in pain, as he has over the course of the past week, intensifies everything. He wants so much to make things right. To see her smile and laugh again.

He hears Gigi sniffle a few times during the video, but he doesn't dare turn to look.

The whole scene is far too familiar. He remembers holding Gigi like that as she sobbed over George. Was it really two years ago, now? It feels so much closer. A wound that still aches in the quiet hours of the night.

"We could have prevented this," Gigi says as the video ends. "You should have warned them about George as soon as he turned up in town."

William nods slowly. "You're right." His pride and desire for privacy had stopped him from speaking up. But sometimes the truth needs to be shared, even if it hurts.

"I am?"

"You are." He holds her gaze, and sees the corners of her lips turn up ever so slightly.

He's always been too hard on her. The obvious pleasure she gets from his faint praise is proof of that. Apparently that's another item he needs to add to his growing list of "Things William Darcy Needs to Improve On."

It can go right below, "Open and honest communication," and, "Make amends for past mistakes."

Gigi takes a deep breath. "Have you heard from the P.I.?"

William nods. "He has some strong leads as to George's whereabouts."

"Newport Beach? Like I told you?" Gigi seems almost nervous repeating her admission regarding her one-time romantic getaway destination.

She shouldn't be nervous to speak the truth. William frowns a little. Yes—he really needs to be more easy-going with her. "Yes. The P.I. has located several of George's old friends in the area, and he feels confident that he'll locate the man himself very soon."

"And Fitz's contacts?"

"They've found the distributor. Tilney is drawing up the legal paperwork to stop distribution right now. I was only waiting for confirmation that Lydia would be amenable to authorizing our actions. I'm still not entirely certain . . ." That's been the one major stumbling block in his endeavors to help the Bennets. William was uncertain until he saw Lizzie's video over the weekend that the tape was being released without Lydia's consent. And even now, he's not sure if the heartbroken girl will want to bring the full force of his legal team down on George.

"She'll do it," says Gigi. She folds her arms and gives him a pointed look.

William frowns again and rubbed his chin. "She is still very much in love with him. I'm not certain she'll be ready to take such extreme measures—"

"I need to talk to her. Let's go down. Today, if we can. We'll bring Tilney with us, and we can talk to Lydia in person. I know I can get through to her." Gigi's jaw is set in a hard expression that reminds him all too much of their father.

He won't be able to talk her down. But his stomach stirs at the thought of seeing Lizzie again under these circumstances. She made it clear that she didn't want or need his help. Would he be overstepping his place? Would this action end whatever chance they might have had once and for all? Or, worse, would she feel _obligated_ to him? He never wanted that kind of relationship with her.

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. This is exactly the kind of self-centered thinking that got him in trouble with Lizzie over the summer.

William has always worked to maintain a high degree of order and balance in his life. And, over the past decade, he brought his love life into the same orderly pattern that he strives for in his professional life.

Since reaching his teens, William has had (not necessarily in this order) exactly two puppy-love crushes, two somewhat juvenile relationships that never made it past making out, two one-night stands, two purely sexual flings, and two achingly frustrating friendships in which he wanted more but the women in question did not. He has only had one relationship which successfully balanced friendship, romance, and sex. Unfortunately, it ended badly. Very badly.

When his time at Netherfield ended, it seemed that Lizzie would be third woman to enter the "never-more-than-friends" category. It ate at him. It disrupted the pattern of his life just as badly as she had disrupted the order of his mind.

He couldn't stop thinking about her, even as he worked to keep her sister and his friend apart. So when his aunt casually mentioned Lizzie's presence at Collins and Collins, he'd done something completely out of character—something not at all orderly or balanced.

He'd gone after her.

Oh, he rationalized his impetuousness with flimsy excuses. He wanted to make sure she fell into his relationship pattern as the second successful, well-balanced relationship, rather than become a third unrequited friendship. He convinced himself that all their heated debates at Netherfield had made as much of a mark on her heart as they had on his.

But really, he'd been selfish. He'd grown accustomed to getting his way, and once he realized that, in spite of his reservations, Lizzie was what he wanted, he'd fully expected to have her.

Though it still stings, at times, he's grateful for the lessons in humility, communication and respect that her rejection (and her videos) taught him.

Ever since he has been trying to see the world from other perspectives. Trying to open his mind to viewpoints he wouldn't have considered before. Trying to approach his life with the attitude of "what is best," and "what is right," rather than, "what do _I _want," or, "what is best for _me_."

When Lizzie came to Pemberley, he made no plans and held no expectations. He strove to live each day as if it would be his last chance to make a new, better impression on her. To show with each moment that her words had changed him.

Even when he'd worked up the nerve to invite her to the theater, he fought down any expectations. If she thought of it as a friendly outing, he would content himself with that. If she thought of it as a date, he wouldn't push their intimacy any faster than she wanted go. And if she declined to go, he would accept her rejection gracefully. He'd been determined to let Lizzie dictate the course of their future interactions.

He learned to let go of his order and his patterns.

That's why he can't let himself fixate on the personal ramifications of acting against George. What matters is that he could have prevented George from abusing the trust of that girl and her family, and he failed to do so. He needs to make amends, regardless of the personal cost.

He'll have to deal with the personal fallout later. After the immediate problem is resolved.

"Very well. We'll head out as soon as Tilney has the papers ready."

Gigi flashes a triumphant smile, and William's stomach stirs again. He hopes they're making the right choice.

* * *

Lizzie dreams of Darcy that night.

It's not the first time he's appeared in her dreams, but this is his first featured role. They're back at the Gibson wedding (or something much like it) where they first met.

Darcy is wearing the newsie hat and bowtie he had on for the wedding, but she is wearing the shlubby grey hoodie she's been wearing a lot this past week and her hair is in a messy ponytail. None of this deters Darcy from asking her to dance. And instead of failing to find an excuse to get out of it, like she had at the wedding, she quickly says yes.

He holds her closer than necessary as they sway to the music, and the dance is anything but awkward. His large hand on her shoulder feels warm, even through her clothes, and his cologne smells fresh and clean and outdoorsy.

Somehow everyone else at the wedding has vanished, and it's just them and the music. She leans against his chest and he holds her close, both of them barely swaying to the music. She knows if she lifts her head and looks up, he'll kiss her. Call it dream intuition.

But she won't lift her head.

She sucks on her bottom lip and buries her face in his shirt and fights the urge to let go and give in.

She's aware enough, now, to know that the memory of kissing William Darcy will do nothing but torture her for weeks to come, even if it's only in a dream.

Eventually the music fades and the dance disappears and the dream dissolves into a blur of confusing images.

She wakes up still remembering the warmth of his hands.

She stretches and sits up to stare at the fish, bobbing along in their blissful ignorance.

For the first time since coming home, she gives serious thought to calling him. Not because of the dream. Well—not _just_ because of the dream.

Rather, because, in the quiet of the early morning, she finally sees what has been plaguing her and frightening her every bit as much as the worry that video might actually go public. It's a question: If she was so horribly wrong about Lydia, what else might she be wrong about?

It's a question that shakes her to her core, especially as she looks back on all the many, many things she was wrong about over the past year. Her certainty of Jane and Bing's happiness—wrong. Her belief that Charlotte taking the job with Ricky would be a mistake—wrong. Her conviction that Caroline was a true and helpful friend—wrong. Her opinion that George was a charming and honest guy—wrong. Dead wrong.

And, as the dream has so forcefully reminded her, her judgment that Darcy was just a douche-y, robotic snob was so horribly, horribly wrong.

For a short moment she even allows herself to wonder if her assumption that he no longer wants to be her friend stems from her growing belief that she doesn't deserve his friendship—or anyone else's, for that matter—rather than from anything true. Maybe he really would show up, money and resources in hand, if she only had the courage to dial her phone and ask for his help.

After all, this is the man who Bing, Gigi, and Fitz have all sworn will do anything to help the people he cares about. And they are three of the kindest, sweetest people she's ever met. This is the man who built a company that respects and values all of its employees and provides them with the best possible facilities and resources. This is the man who, at the age of twenty, stepped up to take on the role of parent for his thirteen year old sister after their mother and father died in an accident.

Lizzie can't even image how hard it would have been to shepherd an impetuous and heartbroken Gigi through her tumultuous teen years.

The bottom line: William Darcy is a good man.

Yes—if Lizzie calls on him, he will probably step up and help. It's in his nature.

But will he do it because he feels obligated to help because of his history with George? Or will he do it because he still cares about her?

In the long run, do his motives really matter?

They shouldn't. Not when he could do so much to help her sister. But still, they do. They matter to her. And she's not sure why.

She's not sure of anything, anymore. After all her missteps this past year, nothing is certain. Not her thesis, not her family relationships, not her friendships. None of her own judgments or opinions hold any weight anymore.

She no longer trusts herself.

After staring at his name in the contacts list in her phone for a long, long time, she finally sets it aside.

Not yet. Maybe she'll get that desperate sometime in the next few days. But not yet.

* * *

William clenches his teeth as he presses the bell next to the Bennets' door. His whole body tingles with anxious anticipation. Though they arrived in town late last night, he deemed it appropriate to wait until morning to disturb them. He hopes eight-thirty isn't too early.

Gigi looks unusually serene next to him, and he wonders if he looks the same to her. They're cut from the same cloth after all.

The door opens, and Jane Bennet blinks at him, a shocked look on her face. After a moment she regains her composure. "Darcy! Hi, wow, it's—it's so good to see you."

William almost laughs at her trademark greeting. He squeezes his fists at his side and nods. "It's good to see you again, Jane. I'm sorry to bother you this early, but I'm here on important business. Is Lydia available to talk to me? And, your father might be interested in hearing what I have to say, as well."

Jane knits her brows in obvious confusion. "Lydia? You're here to talk to _Lydia_? Uh—she's not really up to visitors, right now. Maybe if you told me what you're here for . . .?"

"Of course. This is my lawyer, and good friend, Hank Tilney," says William, gesturing behind him to where Tilney stands. "I'm aware of the difficult situation Lydia is facing at the moment, and I'd like to offer our assistance with certain legal matters."

Gigi shakes her head. "Stop being so stiff, William. No wonder you made such a bad first impression." She turns to meet Jane's curious gaze. "We're here as friends. We want to help. I'm Gigi, by the way. His sister." She gestures at William.

His chest swells. His sister had a talent for connecting with people that he's always lacked. She'd been right to insist on coming along.

Jane moves her mouth soundlessly for a moment, taken aback. "Really? You think you can take down the website and stop—stop everything?"

"Yes." William steps forward, hoping she will see the sincerity in his eyes. "That's exactly what we can do."

Jane ushers them into the den, uttering phrases of bewildered thanks before hurrying off to find her father and Lydia.

He sits stiffly on the sofa, Gigi and Tilney on either side of him, and stares around the room that he's never seen outside of Lizzie's videos. It's very much like he imagined, including Lizzie's camera and tripod huddled in the corner, as if waiting for her to appear at any moment. He thinks he's prepared to see her again, but one can never be completely certain on matters involving this much emotional baggage.

After a few minutes William shifts his weight a few times. Gigi begins tapping her foot impatiently. Tilney shuffles papers in his briefcase.

At last, he hears the sound of people approaching.

William rises to his feet as the group enters the den, his nerves lighting back up, and he can see Gigi and Tilney standing beside him out of the corners of his vision.

Jane and Mr. Bennet lead the way, a pale and nervous-looking Lydia following behind, with Lizzie's supportive arm wrapped around her shoulders.

William's heart races as his eyes meet Lizzie's. Her expression, normally so open, is unreadable.

He breathes in slowly to steady his nerves. He can't think about Lizzie right now, no matter how much he wants to. He has business to attend to.

His eyes flick to her father. "Mr. Bennet, Lydia, Lizzie." He says her name in a low, rough tone.

He coughs to clear his throat, and then looks back to Mr. Bennet, striving to keep his focus on him and Lydia. "I'm sorry to see you again under such difficult circumstances. But," William takes his cue from Gigi, "I'm here as a friend. To help."

Mr. Bennet seems wary as he speaks. "Jane tells me you have a way to stop this website. Is this true?"

William nods. "Yes. It is."

"But why? Why would you go out of your way to help my girl like this?" Mr. Bennet seems genuinely befuddled.

"Please, sit. Allow me to explain everything."

* * *

When Jane rushes into Lizzie's room to tell her that Darcy is downstairs with a lawyer, ready and waiting to get rid of the website, Lizzie wonders if this is some sort of dream. But when pinching herself doesn't work and Jane calls on her to help rouse Lydia from her bed, it sinks in that this is actually happening.

Just a few hours ago she was dreaming of him and thinking of him and wondering if she should call him to ask for help, and suddenly, here he is. Lizzie wonders, quite seriously, if she's some sort of wizard with the previously undiscovered talent of conjuring up friends exactly when she needs them the most.

Thank god her mother went out to catch an early-bird sale this morning. There'd be no avoiding an honest explanation if she was here for all this.

Lizzie's heart is in her throat as she wraps her arm around Lydia's shoulders to guide her reluctant sister down the stairs. If she wasn't holding her sister so tightly, she suspects that her hands would be shaking.

She holds her breath as she enters the den and sees him standing there, looking utterly calm and composed in his jacket and tie. His eyes meet hers as soon as she enters the room, but they immediately dart away, as if he can't bear to look at her.

_Oh._

She feels temporarily winded by his reaction. But she reminds herself that Darcy always plays his emotions very close to his chest. She won't have any answers to her questions until she has a chance to get him alone. And even then, she might have to pry her answers out of him.

Deep down inside, she feels certain that Darcy isn't just here because of Lydia or George or Gigi. He's here, at least in part, because of _her._

The thought is a little overwhelming, and more than little confusing. She has no idea how she's supposed to respond to this sort of gesture.

There's not enough seating in the den for everyone, so Lizzie lets her father, Lydia, and Jane sit in the chairs across from the sofa currently occupied by team-Darcy, while she stands. She has too much nervous energy to sit anyway.

She watches and listens as Darcy and Gigi blame themselves—over and over again—for not warning everyone about Wickham. For not stopping him in time.

They say that they are responsible for not protecting their friends from his actions, and they insist on shouldering all the expenses.

They have everything in place.

All they need is for Lydia to sign a few papers, and they can make everything go away.

Lizzie is both overwhelmed with gratitude and deeply frustrated. Frustrated that she didn't accept Darcy's offer of help from the start and that she didn't call him days ago. Frustrated that her father is still so convinced that Darcy is an unpleasant snob that he needs him to repeat his motives half a dozen times before he believes him. Most of all, frustrated that her family will now owe Darcy a debt they can never repay.

And, though she feels ashamed even to think it, she is frustrated that he barely glances at her. That he hardly acknowledges her presence in the room. That he looks so freaking _composed_ and _professional._ Robot Darcy is back with a vengeance.

Lizzie knows that she's hardly essential to the business at hand. But she longs of some sort of sign as to what he's expects from her. Does he expect anything at all? What the hell will all this mean for the two of them?

It's stupid and selfish to fixate on something that never happened. Something that very well may never happen. Especially when all the solutions they've been searching for over the past week are being handed to them on a silver platter.

But she can't help it.

All she wants is for him to _look _at her. To see something in his eyes to let her know what he wants from her.

It gives her pause to realize how much she's come to care what he thinks of her, because that used to be that least of her concerns. Now, however, she feels quite the opposite. As soon as Lydia's video is wiped out of existence, what Darcy thinks of her is at the forefront of her mind—no matter how immature and self-centered that might be.

His opinions matter to her. _He _matters to her—in ways she's nowhere near ready to understand or admit.

Lizzie's impatience grows with every passing minute. She feels nearly ready to jump up and down with frustration as the lawyer starts slowly explaining the various legal documents he spreads out on the coffee table in front of her father and Lydia. Can't he just cut to the chase and have her sign the damn things?

But that's when Lizzie realizes that even _team-Darcy to the rescue_ might not be enough to save this day, because Lydia asks a question. "What will all this mean for George?"

Lizzie feels heart drop. No. Nononono. Lydia didn't use her "kill the bastard, vengeance is mine!" voice. Instead, she used the soft, pained, "why didn't he love me?" voice.

_Crap._

"Well," says the lawyer, "he's named as a co-defendant in the lawsuit."

"But what does that mean? What will it do to him?" Lydia asks.

"It means that he'll have to share in the burden of the legal fees, as well as in any damages that the judge awards to you. There are also several avenues of potential criminal prosecution that we could pursue."

"Oh no. No. I don't want that. I don't want any of that." Lydia looks almost as shocked as she did when Lizzie first showed her the website.

This is not a good sign. Lizzie sucks on her bottom lip and fights to restrain herself from shouting at her sister that _yes, that is exactly what she should want._

"The criminal prosecution is not necessary," says Darcy, finally showing a few flickers of emotion. Is he actually being—comforting? "The lawsuit should be more than sufficient to take down the website and provide for eliminating any and all copies of the recording."

"George doesn't have any money," says Lydia. "I don't want him to have to pay for any of this. I want him to take down the website, but I don't want to hurt him. I just want to erase it all, and put it behind me."

The lawyer coughs. "Well, without the threat of financial penalties, he may be unwilling to comply with the cease and desist order. And it will make destroying all copies of the video a more complicated task. This is really just a starting point for negotiation purposes. In all likelihood, this will be settled out of court."

Lydia shook her head. "I don't care. I know he's done a lot of crappy things, but I still don't want to hurt him. I don't want to punish him. I just want this to go away."

"Miss Bennet, I'm not certain if you understand—" begins the lawyer.

Lydia cuts him off. "I won't sign anything that makes George pay money. I can't."

"Lydia!" Lizzie can't stop the frustrated cry.

Lydia looks back and frowns. But before she can respond their father speaks up.

"Really, sweetheart. You have to see reason. This is the best chance to avoid permanently damaging your reputation. Think of your future."

"No, Dad—" Lydia begins.

"Lydia," a new voice interrupts.

Lizzie raises her eyebrows in surprise as Lydia turns to the new speaker—Gigi. It is the first time she's spoken up since the initial introductions.

"Do you know who I am?" Gigi asks, holding Lydia's gaze.

Lydia nods briefly, and glances over her shoulder at Lizzie before turning back to Gigi. "Yeah. I've seen the videos."

Lizzie holds her breath. Where is Gigi going with this?

"I won't pretend to know exactly what you're thinking or feeling," says Gigi, earnestly looking into Lydia's eyes. "But I do think I understand what you're going through better than anyone else here. I understand why you don't want to sign the papers, and why you don't want to hurt George. I don't want to hurt him either. Do you—do you want to take a short walk? Just the two of us? I promise I won't pressure you to do anything you don't want to do. We don't even have to talk, if you don't want to. You just look like you could use a break for a few minutes."

Lydia stares at Gigi in silence for a few moments. Lizzie can't even begin to imagine what must be going through her head. Finally, Lydia says, "Yeah. Sure. A walk would be nice."

Gigi nods, her smile warm, and the two girls stand.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," says Gigi, following Lydia to the front door.

Lizzie slumps in relief. If anyone can charm Lydia into signing the papers it's Gigi. That girl has more charm than any one human being should be allowed.

Lizzie's eyes linger on the door as Lydia slips on some shoes and they head outside. Once the door closes, she looks back toward the sofa. And finds Darcy looking right at her.

His eyes are so full of deep, indecipherable emotion that Lizzie takes a step back and steadies herself against the wall.

Darcy's eyes linger for a moment before her father draws him back into a conversation about the details of the proposed lawsuit.

Lizzie takes a deep breath.

Well. That was something.

For a while now it's been dawning on her that "Robot Darcy" is merely the veneer he wears when he's nervous or trying to put on a good show—and that look in his eyes confirmed to her just how difficult that veneer is to maintain. Every single day of her stay in Netherfield he must have fought to keep up that act.

If only he'd realized how much more she would have liked him if he was just his natural shy and awkward self. Where would they have been now?

She continues to study his face as he and his lawyer talk things through with her father and Jane, and she notices details that weren't apparent during her initial emotional haze. He has slight bags under his eyes, like he's had a lot of late nights over the past week. There is a small scab just under his left sideburn where he must have nicked himself shaving. And there is fresh dirt on his shoes, as if he spent a fair amount of time walking outside before coming to their door. Apparently Lizzie isn't the only one with a lot of nervous energy, right now.

God, she hopes Gigi can change Lydia's mind.

Lizzie tries to focus on that thought. Because now that her frustration is gone, her stomach feels all wobbly with questions that she doesn't know how to answer.

Gigi and Lydia are gone for more than a few minutes.

After finishing his questions about the lawsuit, her father suggests they all step into the kitchen for some coffee.

Lizzie lingers by the wall as everyone else leaves the den ahead of her, and she manages to catch Darcy's gaze again as he passes her. Their eyes lock for just a moment, and she feels an almost palpable energy pass between them before he casual tilts his head and gestures for her to follow them to the kitchen.

She feels like she has so much to say, but her mind refuses to formulate the words. Still, she can't stop herself from reaching forward to lightly grab his wrist just as they step into the kitchen.

He freezes like a kid in a game of tag, and meets her eyes again.

Lizzie lets go of his wrist immediately. Not that she wants to. But really, everything is so weird and confusing and uncertain. She needs to pace herself. She needs to figure out where she stands—and she needs to figure out exactly what she wants here, because, quite frankly, she still isn't entirely sure.

"Hey," she says, still floundering for some words.

"Lizzie," he replies. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk before—everything. I wasn't sure if you'd want me to come if I told you what I was planning. I understand how much your independence means to you."

"You don't have to apologize," says Lizzie, shaking her head. How did he spend six months perpetually saying the wrong thing, yet now he nearly always gets it just right? "I—I was actually thinking about calling you. To ask for help. Earlier this morning."

His eyebrows arch a little, and his lips curve ever-so-slightly into the smile she's grown so fond of over the past several weeks. "You were?" He has almost the same look in his eyes that he'd had when he invited her to join him for lunch in the Pemberley cafeteria just after his costume theater performance as Fitz. That had been a pretty great lunch.

"I was," she says softly.

The way he looks at her leaves her more flustered than ever, so she looks away before she manages to stammer out her next sentence. "Thank you. For all of this. It means a lot that you would do this for my sister. You really didn't have to—"

"I meant what I said." Darcy's tone is firm. "I feel responsible. I could have prevented this. When I heard that, once again, George had chosen to seek financial gain by hurting someone I care about, there's nothing that could have prevented me from working to stop him."

Lizzie feels about a dozen butterflies take flight in her chest as she raises her eyes to meet his gaze again. "I didn't realize you cared so much about Lydia." She almost bites her tongue as soon as the words are out of her mouth. God—you do _not_ flirt about your sister being taken advantage of. What the hell is wrong with her today?

Darcy's lips hover slightly apart, and his face looks a little flushed. This time he's the one who lowers his gaze. "I . . ."

"How do you take your coffee, Mr. Darcy?" calls her father from the other side of the kitchen.

Darcy shoves his hands in his pockets and straightens up. Lizzie watches as his face settles back into its Robot-Darcy mask.

"Black with two sugars, thank you," he says.

Lizzie sighs. "Go drink your coffee. We can talk more later. When all this is done."

He nods and steps across the kitchen to take the offered mug.

Lizzie thinks that she could use some coffee, too. Her brain is not at all with it today.

Once everyone is most of the way through their coffee, Lydia and Gigi finally return. Lizzie rushes out of the kitchen as soon as she hears the front door open, and gets there in time to see the two girls walk in, their elbows linked together.

That has _got_ to be a good sign. Right?

Lydia glances at Lizzie with red-rimmed eyes and flashes her a bittersweet smile just before the rest of the crowd arrives. Lydia looks right at their father and announces that she's ready to sign the papers.

As everyone heads back into the den, Lizzie clutches the banister on the stairs to steady herself. The adrenaline and anger that she's been running on for the past week is still in high gear, and she's not sure if she can bring herself to feel relieved just yet. She manages to gesture to Gigi, who joins her by the stairs instead of heading into the den.

"How did you do it? How did you convince her sign?"

Gigi frowns a little and hesitates.

"Is it a secret?" asks Lizzie. What in the world did Gigi confide in Lydia to make this happen?

"No. Not really. But I don't think you'll like it," replies Gigi, "I promised to pay all of George's legal expenses out of my own trust fund."

Lizzie's jaw drops. "But—but—after what he did to you—"

"Yes. After what he did to me. And after what he did to Lydia." Gigi shakes her head. "I don't expect you to understand. Just—accept it. Lydia doesn't want to hurt him. Give her that. She needs control over something right now, and this what she chose. Let her have it."

Gigi is right. Lizzie doesn't understand. But she hasn't been where Lydia and Gigi have been. It's time to admit that she doesn't have all the answers, and let someone else take the reins. She clamps her mouth shut and nods.

Gigi smiles. "Don't worry, Lizzie. Just because I promised not to let this hurt him financially, doesn't mean we can't scare him a little first." She winks, and then heads into the den.

Lizzie smiles—a real smile—for the first time today. Gigi might just be her favorite person in the world, right now.

* * *

As Tilney walks Lydia through the documents one at a time, allowing her to sign each in turn, William's eyes keep drifting up to look at Lizzie. She seems pretty focused on the process of signing, but every once in a while he'll catch her gaze flicking in his direction.

His heart is pounding, and he hasn't felt so nervous and excited around her since the evening at Collins and Collins when he'd first worked up the courage to confess his feelings to her.

He doesn't much care for that comparison.

But things have changed so much since that night. They are friends, now. Real friends. And she had been thinking of him—wanting to call him.

This information changes everything. It gives him hope greater than he's ever dared to embrace before. But as the signing moves forward, doubts begin to intrude. Was she thinking of him because she wanted to speak to him as a friend, or because she recognized the potential benefits his resources could bring to her family dilemma? Would it be such a bad thing if had been a combination of both?

As Lydia signs the final paper, Lizzie's eyes meet his again, and this time she smiles.

His whole body thrums with anxious energy. There is more in her expression than simple gratitude. He's certain of it of this time.

He knows her, now. He's beginning to understand her. There's definitely something there that wasn't there before.

Now, the question remains, what should he do about it? And how soon?

It seems prudent to move slowly. To give her and her family a little space so she knows he has no expectations based on any perceived sense of obligation.

How long will be enough? Two weeks? Three? He's not sure if he can bear to wait that long.

While Tilney carefully stacks the documents and returns them to his briefcase, everyone stands. There is much thanking and shaking of hands over the next few minutes, and William's heart is warmed by the soft smile on Lydia's face.

She looks as if a burden has been lifted. But he knows full well that there will be months more of healing ahead of her. For that, he has no solutions to offer.

Lydia pulls Gigi off to one side of the room to speak in low tones and Mr. Bennet steps up to occupy William's attention.

"Truly, I have no words to thank you enough," the man repeats for at least the third time.

"Really, I am happy to have helped."

"And I know this lawyer and his associates must be costing you hefty sum," says Mr. Bennet, "I need to repay you. I can't let you shoulder this debt. She's my daughter. I should pay."

William's eyes widen a little and he searches for the right answer. This is a complication he'd hoped to avoid. "No. I'm only making amends for my own failure. You have no need to repay anything."

"_She's my daughter_," Mr. Bennet insists, and then drops his voice, "this is as much my failure as anyone's. Please."

"I—but—Tilney is on retainer for my company. He'd be paid regardless—"

Mr. Bennet frowns. "I'm an educated man, Darcy. I know the way the world works, and I'm not fooled for an instant to think you'd let your company pay for personal legal matters like this. Don't take pity on me. I may not be able to pay you back all at once, or even in full, but rest assured, I will pay you."

William feels ashamed for his attempted deception, and his respect for Mr. Bennet grows by the moment. He nods. "I apologize. You're right, of course. I did intend to pay for Tilney's time personally. I shouldn't have implied otherwise. I understand your position, and if you truly insist upon it, I will happy to receive your repayment."

"I do insist." Mr. Bennet nods with an air of finality.

"Very well. Once Tilney works up his final bill, I'll forward you the pertinent information and we'll work out a payment schedule. Will that suffice?" Not that he intends to pass even half the burden of these expenses onto the Bennets, who can ill afford it.

"It will."

He shakes Mr. Bennet's hand again. When the man heads toward Tilney, no doubt for another round of thank you's, William turns his glance to where Lizzie and Jane stand in the front foyer speaking softly. He is pondering how to approach them when Gigi bounds across the den to where he stands.

"Hey—I was hoping I could take Lydia out to lunch before we leave. She wants to talk some more, and," Gigi smiles, "I like her. I want to hang out while I have the chance."

"Yes. I'm certain we can make that work," says William, just as he finds Lizzie suddenly at his side.

"You want to take Lydia to lunch?" she says. "That would be so great. You have no idea how happy I am that you're talking to her about things. Sometimes I have no clue what to say to her. Do you guys need a car? You can borrow mine."

"That would be very helpful, considering the three of us arrived in the same vehicle," says William, tilting his head to indicate Tilney. He's pleased to see how well Gigi is getting along with Lydia. If their families are to ever become more closely associated, it will help to have another ally among their ranks.

He glances at Lizzie, feeling warmly embarrassed about his thoughts. It's too soon. He needs to be patient.

As for today, there are other matters to attend to.

He follows Lizzie and the other girls toward the door, where Lizzie passes off her keys to Lydia. He bides his time, waiting for his sister and her new friend to depart before speaking with Lizzie again.

But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, she's already beaten him to it.

"What now? I mean—the website isn't down _yet._ So what happens next?"

"The lawsuit will be served to the distribution company sometime over the weekend. And it'll be served to George, as well. Then, unless they're fools, they'll pull the site immediately."

"Let's hope they're not fools," answers Lizzie, peering out the nearby window to watch Lydia and Gigi drive away. She stares after them for a moment, resting her palm against the cool glass.

She looks tired. And he can't blame her. The past week can't have been easy on any of them.

"Do you know where George is?" Her voice is tinged with bitterness, and she curls her fingers like claws as she trails them down the window.

A part of him wants to keep this information a secret from her. He hasn't even confided his whole plan to Gigi, though he's sure she suspects. But he's kept too many secrets from Lizzie for too long. It's worn him down. He won't keep this one.

"Yes. I do."

She looks up at him with fiery expectation in her eyes.

He hopes his plans will meet with her approval. "I have a P.I. who located George in Newport Beach. He texted me early this morning to let me know that he's trailing him. I've instructed him to keep tabs on George all day. Once Tilney puts the finishing touches on the paperwork, I plan on taking it with me and heading south. I want to be there to see the look on George's face when the P.I. serves him with the lawsuit. I want to be there to make sure he knows exactly how serious we are." He can't stop his voice from taking on a hard edge. He's never been a vengeful sort of man, but George's treatment of Lydia has stirred up too many old demons. His two previous attempts to distance himself from George failed. This time, he's determined to make certain that George never dares to come within shouting distance of anyone connected to the Darcy family ever again.

Lizzie scowls. "You're going there today? To personally take him down?"

"I am." He hopes she doesn't think less of him for it.

She steps closer to him, staring up with eyes flashing with anger. "I'm coming with you."

William blinks in surprise. Though he shouldn't be—not after what she's said about George in her most recent videos.

"I'm her sister," Lizzie hisses in a low, harsh voice. "If anyone has the right to be there, it's me."

Clearly William isn't the only one with vengeance on the mind. He doesn't like the idea of putting Lizzie in the middle of such an ugly conflict. But Gigi's recent example has proven to him that sometimes he needs to stop protecting the women in his life, and instead step aside and let them do what needs to be done.

He lets out a small sigh and nods. "You're right. You do."

She raises her eyebrows and takes a step back. "You mean—you'll let me come?"

A vengeance-driven road trip is absolutely not the way he'd hoped to spend a day alone with her, but he'd have to take what fate handed to him. "Yes. I will. I hope to leave no later than four, after I drop Tilney and Gigi at the airport. We won't make it back here tonight, so pack an overnight bag. I'll text you when I'm on my way to pick you up."

She nods eagerly after every sentence. "Okay. Good. I'll pack and be ready for you. Wow. So. We're really doing this." She looks stunned, but undeniably pleased.

"Indeed. It seems that we are."

A few minutes later, when he heads out to his car with Tilney, William still feels dazed and flustered. His whole frame buzzes with nervous energy—and almost none of it has to do with facing down George.

In just a few hours, he and Lizzie will be hitting the road and he has no idea where it will take them.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Much thanks for your wonderful responses so far! I love hearing from you all. And again, I need to thank Kyrie Anne for her excellent beta work. What I intended to be chapter 2 turned into a 12,500 word epic, so I split it in half for easier reading. This is the first part, the next will go up in a couple of days, and the 4th and (I think) final will hopefully be up no later than the end of next week. Thanks!

* * *

Lizzie's heart pounds as she dashes up the stairs to her room, and she's not certain if it's because she gets to face down George, or if it's because she just invited herself along on a road trip with Darcy. Both are pretty appealing—if somewhat anxiety-inducing—prospects.

She opens her laptop and Google Maps soon tells her that her trip will be a little over four hours long. Four hours there. Four hours back. And an overnight stay. All alone with Darcy.

She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear her head. What was she thinking? What the hell does she expect to say or do to George once she sees him?

As for Darcy—that's a well of unanswered questions that runs a mile deep. She expected to have time to think things through. To come to a better understanding of how she feels about him before actually having to face him again. But now her big mouth has trapped her on a road trip with him.

The thought crosses her mind that she could always back out, but she instantly rejects it. As insane as this whole venture is, there's something exciting and liberating about embracing the insanity. She's diving in headfirst and figuring things out as she goes along.

Isn't that what she's been doing for the past few months, anyway?

She jumps up and grabs her favorite overnight bag from her closet, smiling. Everything about this feels reckless in all the right ways.

If she can't figure out what she wants out of her relationship with Darcy after being stuck in a car with him for eight hours (with a break in the middle during which she may or may not get to punch George in the face), then the relationship probably wasn't meant to be in the first place.

This will be like a trial by fire—walking over the hot coals with her bare feet, waiting to see if she comes out the other end safe and whole, or blistered and burned.

Lizzie folds a few shirts and a pair of jeans and stuffs them into her bag. She feels as if all the unexpected twists and turns of her life over the past few months have tempered her and prepared her for a day like today.

She can't wait to get going.

Except she _has_ to wait, because it's only just past eleven, and Darcy said they might not leave until four.

Lizzie packs her bag in less than fifteen minutes. Then she paces. And paces some more. When she realizes only another ten minutes have passed, she heads downstairs to scrub the kitchen.

Her mother finally makes it home from her morning of shopping just as Lizzie furiously scrubs the inside of the microwave.

After her mother makes a few comments about being pleasantly surprised by Lizzie's cleaning-fit, she shows off her new purchases (including a few really awful tops she bought especially with Lizzie in mind), and then asks a question that makes Lizzie wince.

"So, is Lydia out to lunch with her darling boyfriend, George? I bought her a top that I think will make him go absolutely wild."

Lizzie bites her tongue and mumbles something about George still being out of town. This deception has gone on long enough, but it's not her place to tell Mom—whatever it is they finally decide to tell her. Instead she promises to try on the tops (not that she intends to _keep_ any of them), and goes back to scrubbing.

There're a dozen other things she should be doing right now—including the work that will actually permit her to graduate on time. But the idea of trying to focus on anything other than the impending trip is more than her emotionally exhausted brain can handle right now. She needs to save up her mental capabilities for when she has to face Darcy, again.

Lydia doesn't make it home until a little after two. She walks into the house with a smile on her face which lifts Lizzie's heart as soon as she sees it.

Thank god for Gigi Darcy.

"You look like you had a good time," Lizzie says.

Lydia's smile gets even bigger. "Gigi Darcy is totes amazing. I have a standing invite to go up to San Fran to do some hardcore shopping with her. It's hard to believe she's actually related to boring Darce-face."

Lizzie's smile falls. "He's not really boring once you get to know him."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I was teasing." She meets Lizzie's eyes and looks more serious than she usually does in these sorts of conversations. "Seriously—I don't like some of the things he said about you, or about our family. But I don't really know him. And, it seems like he's . . . he's a good guy. I think it's cool if you like him."

"I didn't say—I don't know where you got that idea." Lizzie feels warm and can't figure out what to do with her hands.

Lydia sighs and shakes her head. "I _have_ seen the videos, remember? Just 'cause my love life sucks right now doesn't mean _all_ of us have to be lonely rejects. Really. It's okay."

"Lydia . . ." Lizzie doesn't know whether she needs to start by reminding Lydia that she is _not_ a lonely reject, or by responding to her little sister's oblique permission to start dating William Darcy.

Fortunately, Jane comes down the stairs at just that moment and provides a much-needed distraction.

They migrate to the kitchen and spend a few minutes chatting about Gigi while somehow managing to avoid the topic of George. Then Lizzie tells Lydia about the bag of new clothes from Mom waiting for her up on her bed.

"Fashion show!" Lydia declares and jumps up to pull her sisters up the stairs.

"They're horrible. Really. Worse than usual," Lizzie insists.

Lydia rolls her eyes again. "You never give Mom enough credit."

Maybe she has a point.

Soon all three sisters are deep in a pile of discarded tops as they try things on and swap them back and forth. Eventually Lydia finds three tops that she says she likes (Lizzie wonders if her taste is getting as questionable as their mother's), and Jane manages to find one she wants to keep as well. Both of them team up to try to convince Lizzie to keep a bright orange ruffle blouse that they insist will look good with a few of her cardigans, and she grudgingly agrees. It's not something she would have chosen for herself, but it might look good as part of her "job interview wardrobe." That's another thing she needs to start thinking about again, after the George business is settled once and for all.

Which reminds her of another unpleasant topic that's been on her mind. She starts hesitantly. "Um . . . Lydia? Mom asked about George again, today. I'm starting to run out of excuses. I think we need to tell her something." Lizzie hates to be the one to ruin their fun, but how much longer can they go on like this?

Lydia's eyes droop and she nods quietly.

The now-familiar ache wells back up in Lizzie's chest, and she mentally revisits her long list of things she'd like to do to George when she sees him. Some of them won't even get her arrested.

"I could tell her something," offers Jane. "Or we could talk to Dad about breaking things to her."

Lydia shakes her head. "No. I—I need to tell her. I'll just say we broke up and I don't want to talk about it. That'll be enough, won't it?" She looks up at her sister's eyes, pleading for their affirmation.

"Absolutely," says Lizzie just as Jane says, "Yes. Yes."

"We'll back you up on this. No matter what," adds Jane.

Lydia's smile returns, though not as bright as before. Lizzie wonders how long it will take for that bright smile to become a regular fixture in their home again.

"Thanks," says Lydia. "And, um, can I ask you guys a favor?" She tells them that she's been alone a lot lately and she worries that she doesn't always know how to deal with things the right way.

Lizzie bites her bottom lip. There's that idea she's been thinking about so much lately. The "right way." She can't help but think that Lydia wouldn't assume _her_ way is the wrong way if Lizzie hadn't spent so many years berating her. Damn it.

Lizzie blinks back the rising moisture in her eyes as Lydia says, "I just think I shouldn't be too—by myself—for now?"

"Yeah," Lizzie answers, nodding. "Whatever you need."

Lydia starts mumbling about how busy her sisters are and not wanting to get in the way, but Jane and Lizzie cut her off immediately. Lizzie won't let Lydia think like that. Not anymore. There's always time for sisters.

Well—except for tonight.

After a few more minutes of reassuring her, Lizzie feels like she owes it to Lydia to speak up about her plans. But she decides to tread carefully. She doesn't want to upset this delicate new balance between them. So she offers up a half-truth. "Hey, I just—I am going to be here for you. Whenever you need me. So I feel like I need to tell you that Darcy isn't leaving town yet, and he asked me if we could hang out together later this afternoon. And I said yes. But if you want me to stay home with you, I totally will. Sisters first. Always." She holds her breath, already feeling a little guilty.

Lydia smiles and shakes her head. "I didn't mean I need you 24/7, big sis. The guy is here mostly for you anyway. Go ahead and go on your date."

Jane blinks and stares at Lizzie in surprise. "Wait, what?"

This is how Lizzie realizes Jane still isn't caught up on her videos. She feels her face getting warm as she struggles for the right words. "Uh, yeah. I guess I didn't tell you everything the couple of times we talked while I was in San Francisco."

"All you said was that you really liked Pemberley Digital and that you'd misjudged Darcy and he was actually a pretty decent guy—which is exactly what I tried to tell you the whole time we were staying at Netherfield, by the way," says Jane, "You didn't tell me you were dating him, Lizzie! Did you know he was coming today?"

"No. _No_." Lizzie shakes her head and waves her hands emphatically. "I'm not dating him. I had no idea what he was up to. We haven't talked or communicated at all since I left San Francisco until he showed up this morning. But yes—there was . . . something starting to happen between us before I left, I guess?" It feels so strange to admit it out loud.

Posting videos of herself being friendly with Darcy had been one thing, but admitting to the people she cares about that the friendliness had taken on certain confusing yet exciting overtones still feels strange. Up until today it has been her little secret. Her confusing little puzzle to solve all on her own. And treating it like more fodder for the family gossip machine feels wrong, somehow. "This isn't a date," she feels compelled to add. "This is just catching up after a crazy week. That's all."

"Yeah. Right." Lydia shakes her head, smiling. "I think I'll show Jane some of your videos while you're gone on your _not-a-date_. I think she'll agree with me. And you should have heard the things Gigi said about you two."

Lizzie's eyebrows shoot up. "She talked about us?" So maybe Gigi isn't her favorite person, after all.

"Yes," says Lydia teasingly. "Darcy is still totes in love with you. And I owe him big-time, so don't break his heart tonight, okay? Or at least let him down easy."

Lizzie's heart flips a few times at the words "in love." Just what had Gigi been telling Lydia?

She shakes her head. "I don't plan on breaking any hearts today."

"Good," replies Lydia, smirking.

On the one hand, if this new interest in Lizzie's love life helps Lydia feel better, it's probably a good thing. On the other hand, Lizzie is pretty sure she doesn't actually _want _Lydia interested in her love life. The teasing about this might be worse than the "perpetually single" bit she used to do. But it seems Lizzie's too late to stop it.

It scares her a little to think of "Darcy" and "love" in the same thought. She's still more than a little confused about her feelings for him. But she's not so scared that she'll skip the road trip. When did this happen? When did she start wanting William Darcy in her life, rather than the opposite?

She hangs out with Jane and Lydia a little longer before excusing herself to her room to get ready for her _not-a-date_. They buy the excuse all too easily. In reality, Lizzie needs to check for texts on her phone. Nothing, yet. But she's sure he'll be here soon. When she hears her sisters turn on some music, she sneaks her overnight bag downstairs and out the front door and hides it behind the front bushes—just in case they come to gawk when heads out with Darcy. She doesn't want them to get any wrong ideas.

As the minutes tick by, her guilt about deceiving Lydia grows. Maybe she should just fess up the truth? But what if Lydia asks her to stay home? Lizzie has fixated on this trip as something that she needs. She's not quite sure why, but she does, and it will leave a lasting ache inside of her if she has to stay behind.

For the sake of appearances she touches up her makeup and changes into a casual dress instead of the jeans she'd been cleaning house in, so she looks appropriately date-ready.

She fidgets and paces, checking her phone every few minutes as quarter 'til four passes. Finally, as her clock closes in on three-fifty, her phone buzzes.

_"I'll be outside in three minutes."_

Simple, direct and to-the-point. She isn't surprised.

Lizzie only manages to wait in her room for another minute. Then she can't take it anymore. She grabs her purse and phone and heads down the stairs.

"Have fun on your date, Lizzie!" Lydia calls after her.

Lizzie feels her face getting warm already, and her heart pounds. The cool February air does nothing to soothe her nerves as she takes up her position on the front stoop, waiting.

A minute later, he arrives.

* * *

William manages to keep his secret right up until he drops Gigi off at the airport. Tilney get out of the back, but Gigi remains in the shotgun seat, glaring at him.

"I'm not leaving this car until you tell me what's going on. You're going after George, aren't you?"

William taps the steering wheel and looks away from her piercing gaze. "Yes. I need him to see how serious I am."

Gigi sighs. "William, do you really trust yourself around him? I don't want you getting yourself arrested, or anything."

William raises an eyebrow at her. "I have no intention of getting myself arrested. I'm merely going to be there when the papers are served. That's all."

"Are you sure you don't need me there to help keep you in check? I know how angry you are, and—"

"No." He'll never bring Gigi anywhere near George again, if he can help it. "And I assure you, I'll be in complete control of my temper."

"William—" Gigi tries again.

"Lizzie's coming with me," he blurts out to stop her further protests. "I won't lose my temper around her. You have nothing to be concerned about."

He watches as Gigi's features flash through surprise straight onto delight, a bright grin spreading on her face and glowing up at him. "Lizzie's coming? Seriously?"

He sighs. "Yes."

Gigi emits a sound he can only describe as a squeal, and taps her feet rapidly in front of her. "This is perfect. The two of you, all alone for hours and hours with no one to talk to but each other. This is going to be great."

"I would kindly thank you to stop interfering in my love life," William says. He got more than enough of that back at Pemberley. "We're on a mission to make sure George can never harm Lydia again. That's all."

"Sure it is." Gigi gives him a knowing look.

"Don't you have a plane to catch?"

Gigi rolls her eyes at him before finally stepping out of the car. "Good luck, big brother," she calls before she turns and heads into the terminal.

William tries to focus on the road as he drives away, but his thoughts keep coming back to Gigi's parting words. Good luck with what? Intimidating George? He's fairly certain that wasn't what she was referring to. She meant, "good luck with Lizzie." But what does good luck with Lizzie even constitute? He's not entirely certain.

At the moment he'll settle for remaining on good terms with her through the entirety of their short road trip. He can't let himself hope for more. He won't set himself up for disappointment, again.

They're doing this as friends. Nothing more. Unless Lizzie initiates something. Which won't happen. Things might be changing between them, but they aren't changing that fast.

At least, he doesn't think they are.

By the time he exits the freeway to head toward Lizzie's neighborhood he's worked himself into a state of nervous confusion. It takes him three tries to send a successful voice-text to Lizzie, because he keeps muddling the words.

She is already outside when he pulls up to her house. He watches as she retrieves a bag from behind the shrubs. She's changed into a patterned dress, and he finds his eyes lingering on her legs as she bends over.

He takes slow, steady breaths to try to slow the pace of his heart. He needs to be calm. Rational. Focused.

They are heading south on a mission—not for pleasure.

He steps out of the car to take her bag, depositing it in the trunk beside his own. They both get in the car without exchanging more than a few words.

It's only after a few increasingly awkward minutes of silent driving that Lizzie finally speaks up. "I hid the bag in the bushes because I didn't want my sisters to get the wrong idea about tonight." She speaks at break-neck speed, and it takes a moment for William to process exactly what she said.

When the implications of what sort of "wrong idea" her sisters might have gotten from the overnight bag sinks in, his throat feels tight, and he grips the steering wheel a little tighter. "Uh, yes. Certainly. I understand."

They lapse into silence for another moment as William struggles to find an appropriate follow-up topic. Eventually inspiration strikes. "Gigi enjoyed her lunch with Lydia," he says. "She wants to invite her up to San Francisco sometime."

"Yes. Lydia said something like that. She really likes Gigi."

They manage to chat about their younger sisters for a few minutes without much awkwardness. Until William finds himself saying, "I'm glad to see our families getting along better. I know I didn't make a very favorable first impression."

He sees Lizzie smile at him out of the corner of his eyes, though he tries to keep watching the road.

"Well," she replies, "not everyone is good at first impressions. But I wasn't very good at letting go of that first impression. And I influenced the rest of my family to think badly of you. That was wrong of me, because once I finally let go of that first impression I started to see that you're not who I thought you were. At all. So—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not letting go of a bad first impression."

"I—" William freezes and stares blanking ahead at the road. He knows the proper response to an apology is to graciously accept it, but there is so much more here than a mere apology and he doesn't yet know what to do with this information. "I—thank you."

There's so much more he wants to say—and a long list of questions he wants to ask. But under the circumstances he's afraid of doing anything to influence Lizzie in a romantic way. Not when that romance might be derived from a sense of gratitude or obligation.

He's trapped himself in a corner that he doesn't know how to escape from. He wishes—not for the first time—that he could read her mind.

"Would you like to listen to something?" he says, desperately hoping for some sort of distraction.

"Sure. Do you want me to find something on the radio?"

William breathes deep in relief. So she'll let him move onto something safe. Good. "Or, I have some podcasts and playlists on my phone. It's synced in with the stereo over blue tooth, so we can listen to anything on there, if you want to scroll through the list." He hands Lizzie his phone.

"Okay." She starts to scroll through his audio options. "Wow. Someone here really likes NPR."

William shrugs. He's not ashamed of his listening preferences. "I enjoy their commentary and analysis. I like to save up podcasts of my favorite programs to listen to when I have long drives, or when I'm cycling."

"That makes sense. I guess I should finally figure out how to use my new phone, so I can do stuff like this, too. So—do want to listen to _All Things Considered_? Or _Fresh Air_? Looks like you've got a few episodes of _Marketplace_ . . ."

"Can we listen to the latest _Marketplace_? If you don't mind." He glances over at her. "That wouldn't be boring for you, would it?"

She shakes her head. "No. I like _Marketplace_."

William smiles a little. He instantly feels more relaxed as the familiar tones of the economic commentary show fill the car. They listen quietly to the first segment. During the second segment, Lizzie speaks up with a few of her own comments, and William gladly responds. Before long they are regularly pausing the podcast to engage in their own discussions regarding the topics at hand.

Now _this _is what he always imagined a relationship with Lizzie would be like—coming together as friends and intellectual equals. He hasn't had this much fun since the day he and Gigi led Lizzie on a tour of San Francisco. Perhaps he's been worked up and nervous over nothing. Maybe, for once, things will work out just as he hopes they will.

* * *

Lizzie isn't sure what she expected out of her drive with Darcy—More tension? More conflict? But chatting happily about an economic news radio show never would have made this list.

Moments like these, as few and far between as they've been, are still enough to make her think the two of them might really have a shot at something. Maybe her inappropriately romantic dream really was pointing her in the right direction.

Then a segment on fashion week comes on, and Lizzie comes crashing back to reality. Hard.

It's a brief segment. Just a bit of fluff, really, talking about contemporary designers targeting working moms. But it forces her to think about her sisters again, and all the difficulties they are both facing right now.

"Lizzie? Are you all right?"

She squeezes her lips together and silently wishes that she was better at hiding her feelings. "I—this segment just—" She sighs. "Jane was supposed to be working at the L.A. fashion week right now. And when she told her boss that she needed to go home for personal reasons, he fired her."

"Oh." Darcy's face goes stiff and blank, the way she's come to recognize as the mask he puts on when he's nervous or upset.

"Yeah. She's trying to put on a good face and act like it's no big deal, but she loved that job. Once all this . . . stuff . . . is taken care of, I think it'll start to hit her." Lizzie shakes her head. If she'd been the one to lose her job over this, she wouldn't be acting half so chipper as Jane. She envies her natural optimism, sometimes, but she knows Jane is still hurting.

"I'm sorry," says Darcy in a low voice. "If I'd acted sooner—if I'd made my intentions clear, instead of waiting a week, perhaps this could have been prevented."

A knot twists inside of Lizzie's gut. She gone down that same path of self-blame so many times over the past week that she's starting to realize what a pointless black hole it can be. "You have nothing to apologize for," she insists. "What you're doing to help us is more than we ever could have expected. You have no idea how grateful we are. Really. You're a good friend, Darcy. Thank you."

Darcy turns his head to meet her eyes for a moment, and the knot inside her twists a little tighter. He nods shortly before looking back at the road.

Lizzie takes a deep breath and shrugs. "Jane will land back on her feet. That's her way. I'm more worried about Lydia. What you're doing is a huge help, but George really messed with her mind. And the way I've treated her over the past year didn't help any." Her voice catches in her throat a little, and she feels moisture welling in her eyes. She looks out the window at the endless stretch of strip malls and housing developments to avoid Darcy's gaze. She owes Lydia so much, and here she is still going behind her back. Still not communicating with her.

The guilt tightens in her throat. "Darcy—I think I made a pretty big mistake."

"What is it? Can I help?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. I—" Lizzie feels even worse while she admits her latest mistake, as if saying it out loud reaffirms just how crappy it was. "—I lied to Lydia about what I was doing with you, tonight. I didn't tell her we were going to go see George. She thinks we're going on a date." She looks down at her hands in her lap, wishing that she could stand up and do something instead of sitting trapped in this car. "I should have told her the truth. She's the one he hurt. If anyone deserves vengeance or closure, it's her. I'm stealing that chance from her out of some misguided notion of protecting her." She sniffs and wipes at the tears starting to leak from her eyes. "I should have told her the truth."

They sit in silence for a moment. What must he think of her now?

"I—I understand the desire to protect your younger sister," he says deliberately, as if carefully considering every single syllable. "I thought I was protecting Gigi when I hid the truth about George and his inheritance from her. But that only left her more vulnerable to him. And when I paid him to leave, I thought I was doing what was best for her. But since then I've often wondered if it would have been better if I'd simply told her the full truth about him, and let her choose for herself. She might have stayed with him longer, but I'm certain things would have eventually fallen apart. Her heart still would have been broken, but at least it would have been broken on her terms, instead of mine. I even wonder if I had refrained from paying him off, perhaps he would have given up on exploiting women for financial gain. I don't know. I don't have the answers. I hate not knowing."

This is as raw and vulnerable as Darcy has ever been with her. She knows—knows with absolute certainty—that he's never voiced these thoughts to anyone before. Just to her.

"What do you think I should do?" she asks.

He shakes his head, looking over to meet her gaze with eyes full of empathy. "I'm in no position to give advice. It's up to you, Lizzie. I'll do whatever you need me to do."

She still feels a tight knot in her gut, but it's a little better now that things are out in the open. Okay. She needs to make a choice.

After another moment of thought, she says, "I think I need to call her."

"Would you like me to pull off the freeway and park somewhere, so you can have some privacy?"

"Yeah. I'd like that." It still boggles her mind that she'd completely missed this caring, compassionate side of him that whole summer at Netherfield. How could she have overlooked something that she now sees as an integral part of his character?

He takes the next exit and pulls into a convenience station. "Take your time," he says, and gets out of the car. "I'll be inside when you need me."

"Thanks." Lizzie smiles at him before he shuts the door. After all his effort and money that's gone into finding George, he's ready and willing to put it all on hold for her and her sister. That really says something about him.

Lizzie stares down at her phone in her hands for a few minutes before she works up the nerve to dial.

Lydia answers after just a few rings. "Please don't tell me you need me to pick you up. You were supposed to go easy on him! Not ditch him after one hour."

Lizzie sighs. This conversation won't be easy. "I'm not ditching him. Look—Lydia—I lied to you about tonight. Darcy and I aren't really on a date."

"If you're not with Darcy, then who are you with? What's going on?"

"I am with Darcy. But this isn't a social thing. I—we—" Lizzie takes a deep breath and plunges forward. "His P.I. tracked George down in Orange County, and we're on our way to confront him. Face to face."

"Oh." Lydia is quiet.

Lizzie nibbles on her bottom lip, waiting for Lydia to say something more, but every second that passes weighs down on her more and more. Finally she says, "I'm so sorry. I should have told you from the start. I thought I was protecting you, or something stupid like that. Really I was just being selfish. If you want me to turn around and come home, I will. I don't have to do this. Or—or if you want to come along, I'm sure Darcy won't mind. This should have been your choice. Not mine. I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh," Lydia repeats.

Lizzie waits. And waits.

At last Lydia replies, "I—I—I don't think I should see George again, right now. I don't—I don't think that would be a good idea for me."

"Okay, honey. It's okay. God, I'm so sorry I did this. I'll have Darcy bring me home. It was selfish of me to want to confront him like this. I don't need it. I'll come home." It hurts to think about turning around. She wanted this trip so much—not just to face down George, but for herself. It didn't make any sense, but that's how it felt. But she doesn't need it. Not really. Not like she needs to be there for Lydia.

"No. You don't have to do that," says Lydia.

"Yes. I do. This was a stupid idea."

"Lizzie—I want you to go see him."

This gives Lizzie pause. Her mouth hangs open for a moment. "You do?"

"Yeah. I—I don't think I could take seeing him again. Not yet. But, uh, I want you to ask him something for me." Lydia's voice quavers.

"Are you sure?" Lizzie has a bad feeling about this.

"Yes. Yes. I want you ask him why. Why did he do this? Was it his plan all along, from the time we met in Vegas—or—or did something happen, later, to make him do this? Please—can you ask him that for me?" Lydia's childlike earnestness makes Lizzie want to scream. Not at Lydia—at the ass-face who did this to her.

She's never hated anyone like she hates George Wickham.

She fights to hold back her anger. "Okay. If that's what you really want."

"It is."

Lizzie clenches her teeth and sucks in a hot breath. She almost would have preferred turning back to becoming the messenger in this scenario. But she needs to learn to respect Lydia's wishes. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you before I left."

"It's okay. I get it. Really."

"And you sure you want me to do this?" Lizzie asks one more time, looking for an out.

"I'm sure."

Lizzie's made her bed, now it's time to sleep in it. "Okay. I'll call you after we see him. It might not be until late tonight. So, um, I'll text you before we go. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks. And—thank Darcy for me. Again. Try to be nice to him."

"I will. I promise."

After hanging up, Lizzie wipes the last of the moisture from her eyes and steps out of the car to head into the convenience station. She finds Darcy sipping from a large fountain drink and flipping through a magazine.

He looks up and sets aside the magazine as soon as she walks in. "Do you need me to turn around? I will if you need it."

She smiles wanly. "No. Lydia wants me to ask George some questions for her. Some extremely uncomfortable questions. So, I guess I'm in this for the long haul."

Darcy nods and reaches out to rest his fingertips lightly on her upper arm. "I'll be there to help. You won't have to do it alone." The way he looks at her makes her feel better already.

"I know. Thanks." She smiles a little bigger, and his lips curve up in return. Then he steps back, dropping his hand, his eyes shifting as if he is uncertain of where to look.

Lizzie is grateful for his understanding, but all the tension between them isn't doing much to allay her stress. She grabs a fountain drink of her own, and they head back out on the road.

William has been trying—very hard—not to fixate on the least important part of his conversation with Lizzie about her lying to her sister. But he's not having much luck.

The words keep running through his mind: "_She thinks we're going on a date._"

It was such an off-hand phrase thrown into a much more serious conversation, but his mind can't seem to let go. Because Lydia must have been perfectly ready to believe that Lizzie would go on a date with him.

He feels warm every time he ponders that particular conclusion.

Yes, he knows the conversation about protecting their sisters was much more important. He knows that. But emotions don't always allow themselves to be tamed by reason.

After they get on the freeway, they are largely quiet for the first several minutes. Suddenly, Lizzie grabs his phone from its cubby in the center console and starts scrolling through his screen. "Do you have any Taylor Swift on here? I'm in a Taylor Swift kind of mood."

"Ah—no," he admits. "I'm not really a Taylor Swift aficionado. However, I think Gigi shared a Taylor Swift playlist with me on Spotify. You could check?"

After a few more minutes of tapping and scrolling, Lizzie exclaims, "Bingo! Found it."

Moments later the cloying pop-music harmonies of Taylor Swift come blaring through his stereo. William does his best to repress a cringe. He's never been much of a pop-music fan. Especially not of pop-music aimed at an audience of twelve to twenty-five year old females.

Lizzie sways and taps her hands to the music, occasionally singing along just under her breath.

William can't help but smile.

After the first several tracks, he says, "I confess that while Miss Swift isn't my typical taste in music, I truly respect her for her accomplishments. She's a gifted storyteller with an ability to really connect with a specific audience on a very deep level. And she's created an enormously successful brand around herself for someone so young. It's admirable."

Lizzie laughs at him. "Of course you see music as nothing more than another business enterprise."

"Not at all," he replies. "I appreciate quite a lot of music purely on aesthetic grounds. However, I can't help but analyze the business factors behind success stories like Taylor Swift. She actually reminds me a little of you."

He watches her to gauge her reaction. Watching Lizzie react to things has become one of the great pleasures of his life over the past few months. Every little quirk of her mouth or turn of her eyes captivates him. She's the only person to whom he can actually apply the idiom: he can see the wheels turning in her mind.

Sometimes he believes that he could happily watch Lizzie thinking and reacting for the rest of his life.

Right now, her eyebrows shoot up and then scrunch back down as she wrinkles her nose and tilts her head. "How in the world does Taylor Swift remind you of me?"

"You're both skilled storytellers. Your words resonate with your intended audiences on a meaningful, emotional level. And, much like Miss Swift, you've began the process of creating a successful brand around your persona." He adds that last detail mostly to watch the contortions of her face as she processes it. She doesn't disappoint.

"That's absurd. I am not a brand, or a persona, or anything like that. I'm just a vlogger."

William will never understand Lizzie's need to undervalue herself. "Video blogs are a rising medium for the younger generations. There are already vloggers who make a living off their videos and provide entertainment and inspiration for thousands of young viewers. I would most certainly classify them as _brands _and _personas_, and you are well on your way to becoming one of them, whether you care to admit it, or not."

She looks away from him to stare out the car window. "I don't know. I'm not even sure if I want keep vlogging once my thesis is finished."

"You should. You have a gift for the medium. It would be a shame to give it up." She still doesn't see how special she is—how much potential she has to offer. He wishes there were some way he could help her to see herself through his eyes. Then she would understand.

"Maybe," she says, "I don't know. I can't just keep blathering about my sisters' personal lives forever."

"I have every confidence that you will have no trouble broadening your subject matter once you are no longer burdened by the pressures of grad school."

Lizzie frowns a little. "I wish _I _could feel that confidant." She picks his phone back up. "I'm ready for something to lighten the mood. Did I notice _Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me_ on here with your other NPR podcasts?"

Darcy knows a deflection when he hears it. "Yes. I have several weeks of episodes saved up. I haven't had a chance to listen in quite some time." The humorous current events quiz-show has long been one of his favorite radio programs. "Are you a fan?"

Lizzie smiles. "I used to listen every week with my dad when I was a kid. I don't catch it as much, anymore. But it's bound to cheer me up."

She turns on one of the episodes, and before long they're both chuckling along with the jokes. It's exactly what they needed to lighten the mood.

William can sense the new weight of her sister's requests on Lizzie's shoulders, but in spite of it they manage to fall back into a comfortable, friendly rapport for the rest of their drive. They listen to two episodes of _Wait Wait…Don't Tell Me_ before switching back to music as they traverse the final stretch of freeway before reaching Newport Beach.

The sun has long since gone down, but even in the dim light, William can see Lizzie growing fidgety.

He's been keeping his own feelings about confronting George tightly in check. He doesn't want to go into this situation with his emotions running high. He wants to be able to handle things with cold rationality. But he doesn't expect the same of Lizzie. Her feelings are still so new and raw. He knows this won't be easy for her.

He wants to reach out and take her hand—to reassure her that all will be well.

But he holds back. He doesn't want to add any more emotional confusion to the situation than is already there. So instead, he says softly, "Lizzie—I'll be there. You won't have to face him alone. You have nothing to worry about."

"I know. I know," she says. "I just—I've never had to do something like this before. It's a little weird, you know?"

He nods slowly. "I do." He knows all too well.

"Sorry," she says. "That was insensitive. Of course you understand. I shouldn't—"

"It's all right. Really."

"Okay," she says softly.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I love your favorites and comments. Keep 'em coming! Thank you, Kyrie Anne, for you beta work. You keep my characterizations sharp and my story on track. I hope the 4th and (I think) final chapter will be up by the end of next week.

* * *

"We can check in and get cleaned up for a few minutes while I call Harris—the P.I.," Darcy says, leading Lizzie into the lobby of the hotel he's picked out for the night. She clutches the handle of her overnight bag and nods, taking in her surroundings.

The upscale hotel is a far cry from the usual cheap motels she stays at when she goes on road trips with family or friends. Instead of cheap carpets, vinyl counter tops and threadbare furniture, the lobby of this hotel features stone-tiled floors, a soaring vaulted ceiling, a small jungle of real plants and a bevy of uniformed staff. She has a sinking feeling that this place is far out of her price range.

She tugs at Darcy's sleeve before they reach the reception desk.

He stops and looks down at her. "Yes?"

God. He probably stays at places like this without batting an eye. Lizzie suddenly feels more than a little abashed. "Um—I—I don't think I can afford this place."

Darcy's eyes go wide, and then he looks down at the floor, shuffling a little. "I—I apologize. I didn't think—" His mouth hangs open for a moment.

At least now she's not alone in her embarrassment. Not that it makes her feel much better.

He looks up to meet her eyes. "I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding. I'd assumed I'd be paying for your room. But, if that's uncomfortable we can . . . ?" His voice trails off in uncertainty.

Lizzie feels an unsettled stirring in her chest. This is exactly the kind of scenario that has troubled her since her feelings for Darcy first started to change. Will she ever be able to feel completely comfortable in a relationship with someone whose means are so far beyond her own? She can't just let him throw money around for her, can she? But isn't that what she and her family are already doing with this lawsuit?

These are questions Lizzie isn't ready to answer yet. She doesn't want to become dependent on his favors. But she doesn't want to force him out of his comfortable hotel into something more budget-friendly, either.

"We can go somewhere else, if you'd be more comfortable," he says, his face looking a little flushed.

Lizzie shakes her head. "I guess you can cover my room. But you'll have to let me treat you to dinner." She glances around the lobby. "And probably breakfast, too, to even things out."

His face resumes his normal almost-smile, and he nods. "That sounds like a perfectly reasonable solution. I accept."

Lizzie smiles back and nods. "Good."

Darcy checks them into their rooms, and they head to the elevators. She notices that he politely declines the busboy service—probably to spare her the anxiety of paying a tip. She sucks on the inside of her bottom lip and stares at the floor as they ride the elevator up. This is a whole new balancing act, and if anything ever happens between them, it's something she'll have to get used to.

The hotel gave them rooms directly across from each other, and they agree to meet back in the hall in fifteen minutes, so Darcy has enough time to call the P.I., Harris, and to formulate a plan for approaching George.

As Lizzie freshens up in her room, the knot in her stomach tightens back up. It's almost time to face George.

Though she'd looked forward to this confrontation earlier, now Lydia's questions weigh on her. This won't be the simple slap-his-face-sneer-and-walk-away confrontation that'd she'd had in mind. She owes it to Lydia to follow through with an actual conversation—to try to unravel the twisted motives of George's sick mind.

She's not sure if she can do it.

When she meets Darcy back in the hall, she already feels a little sick.

"I'm afraid we might not be able to see George, tonight," he says as soon as she steps out of her room. He's changed from his slacks and dress shirt into jeans and a more casual button-down.

"Why?" She feels both relieved and ashamed of that relief.

Darcy nods. "According to Harris, George is in a club with some of his friends. It's noisy and crowded and they've been drinking. It's hardly the ideal situation for what we have in mind."

"Yes. I mean, we want him to be sober. And it has to be quiet and private enough that he hears and understands everything. Is there any way Harris can get George out into the parking lot?" she asks, secretly hoping that the answer is no.

"Perhaps. But a club parking lot isn't much better than the club itself. And there's still the matter of inebriation. George needs to have a clear mind for this. I want to be certain that there's no chance for him to misunderstand what we have to tell him." A hard edge works its way into Darcy's voice. "It would probably be best for us to wait until morning. I can instruct Harris to follow George to wherever he ends up spending the night. We can confront him before he starts his day early tomorrow."

Lizzie nods. "Yes. That sounds like the best plan."

"All right. Let me text him my instructions." Darcy raises his phone. "So I suppose we can go get that dinner you mentioned," he says casually as he texts. "Would you like me to have the concierge find us a restaurant?"

"No. Nope." Lizzie rocks on her feet. There he goes again. She's sure Darcy doesn't even realize there's anything wrong with his assumption that the concierge is the best method of finding a place to eat. He lives in world where big tips and fancy dining are the norm. "I think, maybe, we can just drive around a little and see what looks good?" She hopes he picks up on her hint that she needs to find an affordable place without her having to explain it.

He tucks his chin toward his neck and looks sheepish. "Yes. Certainly."

"And maybe I can drive?" she suggests. "You've been behind the wheel a lot already today." And it will be much easier for her to pick an inexpensive place when she's in control of the car.

He quickly agrees and they head back down to the car.

She manages to find a modestly priced chain restaurant not far from the hotel. Fortunately, Darcy doesn't voice a single word of criticism. Maybe he's starting to understand the uneasy place she's coming from where money is concerned.

When the hostess leads them to their table, Darcy steps forward to pull Lizzie's chair out for her. She blinks in surprise and her stomach does a little flip.

Maybe she's going on a date with Darcy, after all.

Darcy doesn't turn his nose up at the blandly-mass-market menu options, and he even puts on a good show of enjoying the complimentary bread. However, Lizzie's nerves are still running high. She decides to treat herself to some of the inexpensive wine. Alcohol is just the thing she needs to help her relax, right now.

As they wait for their food, Lizzie turns the conversation back to Gigi, and how well she got along with Lydia. After a few moments she works up the nerve to ask a question that's been on her mind for a long time, now. "What was it like, having to step up and take over raising her when your parents passed away?"

Darcy stares off into space for a moment, and Lizzie fears that she's crossed some sort of line.

"I'm sorry—that was too personal," she says.

"No. No." He shakes his head. "I don't speak of it often, but it's not too personal. I—I don't mind talking about this with you."

His emphasis on his final "_with you_" is slight, but meaningful. He's already opened up about several very personal topics with her. Topics that he didn't even discuss with his best friends. For some reason he trusts her with the private details of his life. And he's trusted her with them long before she did anything to deserve that trust. It unsettles her—but in a not-altogether-unpleasant way.

"I was a sophomore at Harvard when my parents died," he says. "I was living the normal life of a twenty-year-old student. Studying, dating, spending time with friends. I was on the Harvard swim team, and I lived with a few roommates. Then, suddenly, everything changed." His eyes take on a distant look as he speaks. He glances up to meet Lizzie's eyes. "Gigi is seven years younger than me. I didn't really know her very well. She was still a little girl while I was an adult. Those first two years were—insane, to put it mildly."

Lizzie leans toward him, listening intently as he recounts transferring Gigi to a prep school in Boston and moving them both into an apartment in between the two campuses. He'd dropped out of all his extra-curricular and cut down his class schedule.

"I never could have done it without the nanny," he says. "She was a godsend. She was there to make sure I didn't muck things up too badly on a daily basis, and she managed all the . . . girl stuff. I certainly wasn't mature enough at the time to get Gigi through her first period."

Lizzie laughs with him. It's hard for her to imagine what it must have been like for both of them. His youth had been suddenly and painfully cut short, with adult responsibilities thrust on him whether he was ready or not. His seriousness and self-discipline makes so much more sense in this context.

"Even with the nanny, I tried to be there for all the important things. Swim meets, choir concerts, birthday parties, family dinner every evening, shopping for clothes." He winces a little at that last item. "She needed me, so I made her my top priority."

He has a warmth and liveliness in his eyes as he speaks about Gigi that moves Lizzie.

"You really are a second father to her," she says.

He smiles softly. "In a way, I am. I'm sure I've had my fair share of blunders, but I feel fortunate that I've always been able to be there for her. Few brothers have the opportunity to share this kind of relationship with their sisters. I ended up graduating a semester behind my classmates, because of my added responsibilities in caring for Gigi. But it was worth it."

Lizzie isn't sure whether it's the wine or his smile, but she feels warm all over. "I can see why you're so protective of her."

Darcy nods and looks down at the bread on his plate. "When I discovered her with George—" His voices catches in his throat, "I'd never been so angry in my life. And as much of that anger was at myself as it was at him. I felt like I'd failed her when she needed me the most."

He meets her eyes again, and Lizzie feels as if he's looking right into her heart.

"That's how I understand exactly what you were feeling when you found out about the website," he says. "Because I've felt the same way."

Lizzie blinks rapidly to hold back the moisture rising in her eyes, and looks away. "And that's what brings us here."

"Yes. It is."

Their food soon arrives, breaking the tension.

As they eat, Darcy chats casually about moving back to San Francisco to take over as CEO of Pemberley following his graduation. "Along with inheriting my parents' company, I also felt obligated to take on several of their pet charitable causes," he says. "That's how I met Bing, actually. His parents sat on the board of the Friends of the San Francisco Symphony, and I was attending one of their fundraising events. Alone. I hadn't thought far enough ahead to find a date. And I was one of the only people under the age of thirty in attendance. Except for Bing. His parents brought him along, for some reason—I don't remember, now. And he took pity on me, and went out of his way to befriend me. We spent most of the evening getting to know each other, and we started cycling together soon after. We've been friends ever since."

Lizzie grins. "I always wondered how you two met. It's good to have a best friend, like that. I don't know what I'd do without Charlotte."

Darcy nods, his face falling a little. "Actually—things aren't that good between Bing and I right now."

"Why not?"

He toys with his fork. "Just before this business with the website came up, I told him about your videos. And about Jane, and about what I'd done to keep them apart. He was—not happy with me. We haven't spoken since."

Lizzie is stunned. After her costume-theater conversation with him about Bing, she hadn't thought he'd do anything. Clearly, she was wrong. "I—I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "The confession was long overdue. I understand his anger. Has he tried to contact Jane, yet?" He wears a hopeful expression.

Lizzie frowns. "Not that she's told me. I'm sorry."

He looks down again and nods.

Lizzie remembers how difficult it was for her while she and Charlotte were fighting. Darcy could really use his friend, right now. "Hey—Bing is a really forgiving guy. I'm sure that once he's had a little space, he'll understand and forgive you. And it means a lot that you came forward to try to make amends. I'm sure he'll understand."

"I sincerely hope so."

Lizzie takes another gulp of wine. "Have a little faith. Things will work out in the end."

His smile returns. "I could say the same to you."

"Fair point." She nods slowly. She'd certainly been running out of faith that they'd stop the video in time. Yet, here they were, ready to serve George with a lawsuit. Maybe she needed to start reevaluating the other aspects of her life where her faith had been wavering.

After they finish Darcy quietly watches her pay the bill, just as he'd agreed. She's happy for it. Their meal probably doesn't cost half as much as her hotel room, but it still helps to balance the scale a little.

Between her two glasses of wine and the way Darcy's been looking at her all night, Lizzie feels a little light-headed, so she lets him drive back to the hotel.

When they reach their rooms, they stand in the corridor staring at each other. His eyes linger on her face, tracing the curve of her lips before coming back up to her eyes. She feels warm and reckless.

She's not ready for this to end.

When he suggests they turn in, since they'll have an early morning, she counters by saying, "Actually, I'm not really tired yet. I've still got all sorts of energy buzzing through me. Do you want to, maybe, hang out for a little while?"

He swallows, and he tucks his head down to his neck, again. "I—yes. Certainly. I'm not really tired. If you'd like the company. Would you like to come in?" He gestures at his room.

A thrill runs down her spine. "Yes. I would."

* * *

William still isn't certain what turn of fate led him to this point—sitting on the foot of his bed with Lizzie beside him, flipping channels on the television, with both of them drinking the tiny bottles of vodka from his mini-bar.

He's never seen her like this before. She's so relaxed and free. He imagines this must be what it's like when she's hanging out with her friends—a group to which he apparently now belongs. That thought sends a warm surge through his body that he tries to ignore. Though it gets more difficult when she laughs at something on the TV and leans against him, briefly resting her head on his shoulder before sitting back up again.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Does she have any idea how she affects him? Would she still act so casual and free if she did?

He knows that she can't have any idea that the more time he spends with her the deeper and more hopelessly he falls in love with her. She'd never be so comfortable around him if she did. Or would she?

The program they've been watching goes to commercial and Lizzie flips the channel. She finds one of the newer Star Wars movies playing—the second one, he thinks.

Anakin and Obi Wan are having some sort of tense conversation and Lizzie points at them, glaring. "See that? That right there is why the whole Republic fell. Because those two idiots didn't respect each other." She holds her finger up, wagging it to emphasize her point. "Respect is the key to any successful relationship—whether it's family, or work, or whatever. Respect. And Anakin never respected Obi Wan, and Obi Wan never respected Anakin, and Anakin went over to the dark side and killed all the Jedi and everything fell apart. Because they lacked respect." She giggles. "I think I'm a little buzzed."

William smiles. It's a delight to see her relaxed and giddy like this. "I think you might be. But you do make a good point. I agree that respect is a key component of any successful relationship."

"Exactly." She jabs his chest with her finger. "Respect. That's why I was worried when Charlotte took that job with Ricky. I thought there was no way they could ever respect each other enough to work together. But I was wrong. I was wrong." She shrugs and shakes her head. "But I really screwed the pooch with Lydia. I never respected her. I didn't respect her choices, or her desires, or her tastes. I thought I was better than her, and she knew it. I broke her down and left her vulnerable. And then George—"

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. "Damn it. Sorry."

"It's all right, Lizzie. You didn't cause these things to happen to Lydia. George did." William rests a hand on her back, in between her shoulder blades. He wants to comfort her—to make things better. But he isn't entirely certain how.

Lizzie huffs. "Yes. _George._ Now _there's _a man who doesn't respect anyone but himself. He treats people like playthings. He doesn't value them for anything but his own gratification. And I almost fell for his act! God, I hate that I almost believed in him. He never cared about me. He never respected me. Same with Lydia. He never really cared about her at all. He's the worst."

Her words strike him at his core. He's been pondering, lately, why he made such a mess of his personal life over the past year, and he thinks that Lizzie's slightly inebriated words come close to the truth. "I wonder if I'm really any better than him," he says.

Lizzie scrunches up her face. "What? That's ridiculous."

William shakes his head. "I haven't exactly been a paragon of respect, either. Look at the way I treated Bing and Jane! I deserve their anger. I didn't respect them, or their abilities to manage their own lives. I thought I was better than they were—more capable and discerning. The scorn you felt for me was entirely justified. Especially after the way I spoke of your family. I was too high on my horse to respect them, either." He feels ashamed as he admits his guilt, but it is all true, and she deserves to hear it.

"You respect _me,_" she replies softly.

His throat feels tight, and he can hardly catch his breath as he stares down into her eyes. After such a confession, her reaction is to leap to his defense? He can scarcely believe it.

"I didn't always," he says, just as softly. This is a painful truth, but one that he feels he needs to admit. He owes it to her. "Your videos are proof enough of that. Just remembering the way I spoke to you that night at Collins and Collins—I'm still ashamed of what I said and what I felt. I was a selfish and self-centered man, so convinced of the rightness of my own opinions that to have you question me—to have you reject me so passionately—it turned me inside out. You changed everything, Lizzie. You forced me to look at myself as others saw me. I realized that while I knew what was good and what was right, I'd only been going through the motions of goodness rather than actually _being _a good person." He pauses, carefully choosing his next words. He's never opened himself up like this before to anyone, and he wants to get it right. "After I watched your videos, I vowed to change. I committed myself to never falling into the rut of complacency or arrogance or selfishness ever again. It's a difficult path, and I still make mistakes. Frequently. But I believe it will be worth it. I want to be a better man. I want to be a truly _good_ man. Because of you, Lizzie. Because you opened my eyes. And for that, I will always be grateful."

He holds Lizzie's gaze. She seems stunned—at a loss for words. His heart feels so full, and he wants to tell her everything it holds.

He drops his eyes, hoping to give them both a moment to get a handle on their emotions.

* * *

Lizzie has to force herself to keep breathing. Darcy's words have shocked her back into soberness. No one has ever paid her a greater compliment, and she has no idea how to respond to it.

Her first thought is to kiss him.

When he drops his eyes she breaths a little deeper and stops herself. He isn't doing this so she'll throw herself at him. She knows that. She trusts him.

"I think—" She searches for the right words. "—I think you underestimate yourself. And you overestimate me." She shakes her head. "Just look at Pemberley. Those people think the world of you, and they already thought the world of you before I came into the picture. And . . . and Gigi and Bing, and Fitz. They already loved you and believed in you before anything I ever said. You always were a good person. Maybe you just didn't always know how to express yourself?"

He smiles ruefully, looking down at his lap. "Thank you for thinking so well of me. I'm still not convinced I deserve it."

"Of course you do! Look at what you're doing for Lydia. This video could have impacted her for the rest of her life. And I'm sure you're spending thousands of dollars and tons of time on this, when you absolutely didn't need to. What you're doing for my sister is amazing." She rests a hand on his thigh and leans into him. Her heart races in her chest.

Darcy is a man full of so many contradictions that she doesn't have any idea how to make sense of him. But she knows with sudden certainty that she wants him in her life. He matters to her. And he's going to go on mattering to her long after this business with George is done.

He raises his head to meet her eyes again. "Even in this my selfishness threatens to get the better of me. I'm happy to help your sister, but from the start I mostly thought of _you_."

This time when the impulse to kiss him strikes, she doesn't fight it.

They are already so close that she only needs to lean forward a few inches. She brushes her lips against his, letting them linger just long enough to send a new wave of warmth surging through her body.

When she pulls back, his eyes are wide—shocked. He lets his breath out slowly, as if he's been holding it. "Lizzie." Her name drops from his lips in a whisper.

"William," she whispers back. She kisses him again.

This time she parts her lips ever-so-slightly, to let him feel the moisture against his skin. He leans into the kiss and runs a hand up her back, setting all her nerves on fire.

Once again, the kiss only lasts a few seconds.

He holds her gaze, and he looks oddly—concerned?

"Lizzie," he says, "I—I just want to be sure—are you—I don't want this if you're just doing it out of gratitude or … or obligation."

She knits her brows and frowns, frustrated and bewildered. "You actually think I'd make out with someone because I feel like I _owe_ them? Do you really believe that?"

Darcy pulls back from her, looking down and stammering. "I—well—I—now that you say it out loud, it does sound rather foolish."

"Do you think?" God, he could be such an idiot sometimes. But after almost twenty-five years of experience, she's finally starting to realize that idiocy isn't just a Darcy-thing. It's a human-thing. She's been there more times than she can count.

"I'm sorry." He shakes his head, still looking down. "I ruined it. Whenever I'm nervous I always manage to say exactly the wrong thing."

Lizzie sighs. He isn't perfect. Far from it. Nor is he a knight in shining armor riding up to save Lydia from certain doom. He's just a good man trying to be a better man. And right now, that's exactly what she wants. "Then maybe you could try not talking for a while."

"Yes. I think that would be best. Wait . . . ?" He looks up again, meeting her gaze with a puzzled expression. "Do you mean . . . ?"

"Darcy. Quiet."

His mouth hangs open for just a moment, and then he closes it and nods.

Lizzie smiles. Then she kisses him again.

If someone had told her this morning that she would end her day rolling around with Darcy on his hotel bed, indulging in the best make out that she's experienced in years, she would have called them crazy. And she would have been delighted to be proved wrong.

As she runs her fingers through his hair—as she sucks the warm breath from his mouth deep into her lungs—as she gasps at the feeling of his large hand caressing her back, her leg, her breast—as her lips slide along his cheek and his work their way down her neck—she feels with growing certainty that right here, right now, this is exactly where she belongs and he is exactly who she belongs with.

After a time they settle into a quieter embrace. Lizzie lies on the bed, her feet tangled with his legs, and he reclines beside her, propped up on one elbow to lean over her, drinking in her lingering kisses as he traces the curve of her thigh with his free hand. The fire burning inside of her has calmed into some glowing embers, but when Darcy slides his hand beneath her skirt she feels the warmth blaze back up into roaring heat.

He pulls back from her kiss and stares into her eyes. "May I?"

Lizzie can't help but laugh. He's just asked permission to finger her in the same blandly polite tones he'd use to ask for a second glass of water at the dinner table. It's so very, very Darcy that she likes him all the more for it.

He knits his brows and quirks a puzzled smile at her.

"Yes," she breathes out, and reaches out to palm the hard bulge in his pants, deciding that two can play at this game.

His breathing grows more rapid, but he doesn't say a word—he merely leans down to kiss her again.

She sighs against his lips when his fingers reach their destination. When they slide inside her panties, she moans and twists her hand in his shirt.

Her heat steadily rises, and she feels light-headed. It's been so long since she's done this with anyone, she'd almost forgotten how damn good it can feel.

She shifts her hips to give him freer access, and then reaches for his belt and zipper.

He groans when she finally gets her hand inside his pants and begins to return the favor.

They move together, breathing deep of each other's warm, lusty sighs. When Lizzie begins to rise to a climax, she finds herself gasping out his name. "Will . . . oh god . . . William."

"Lizzie," he moans into her neck. "Fuck."

Darcy isn't a man who often uses profanity, and this is first time she's heard him utter that word. It makes her feel powerful and beautiful to know that she's the one who can unravel his formal persona so completely, and it's enough to push her over the edge.

She cries out in pleasure, pushing her body against him as she trembles with the aftershocks. "William," she whispers. He shudders with a soft gasp and she feels his orgasm in her hands.

They lay there for several minutes, still wrapped around each other, breathing deep from release.

"Wow," Lizzie finally says, her mind still spinning. She can hardly believe what just happened. "That was—really nice."

"Yes," Darcy replies in a strangled voice, "it was." A moment later, in a more normal voice, he adds, "We should probably get cleaned up."

Lizzie swallows and nods. "Yeah. You're probably right."

Though she's reluctant to leave his side, she rolls away from him and stumbles to her feet. As she stands washing her hands in the sink, still somewhat dazed, he walks up behind her and pulls off his shirt before grabbing one of the hotel towels to clean up.

Even after what they've just done, her breath still catches at the sight of his bare torso—long and lean and toned. She can imagine herself waking up to that every morning.

No. She turns off the water and dries her hands on the nearest towel, her eyes wide. Is she really thinking about pursuing what would be only the third sexual relationship of her life with a guy who she's spent more time hating than liking? And there's the issue of their different social classes—and the long-distance relationship problem. There's still so much unresolved hurt and so many unanswered questions between them. Rationally, this relationship doesn't stand a chance.

But her not-so-rational side still thinks it might be worth the risk.

She can't make this decision right now. Not when she's still a little buzzed and caught in the afterglow. She needs time to get sober and really _think_.

She turns to see him leaning against the wall, staring at her with lonely-puppy eyes.

"Um," he says, "I think I need a shower."

Lizzie blinks in surprise. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Um . . . I guess I can just, go back to my room now."

He steps toward her. "Lizzie, I . . . I. . ."

She waves her hands in front of her and shakes her head. If he touches her again—if he invites her to stay—she's not sure she has the will to say no. She backs away. "I know. This is a little weird, right? Um. I think we both need a little time, to, uh, think about things. You know?"

He squeezes his lips together and nods, edging back from her. "Yes. Naturally. So, uh, goodnight?"

"Yes. Right. I'll—see you in the morning."

He swallows and shifts his feet a few times. "All right. Well—Harris said he'd call sometime early tomorrow to have us come and confront George. Probably before eight. So—I'll just—text you when he calls?"

Lizzie nods as she backs into the bedroom. "Yep. Sounds good." She turns to grab her purse and card-key from the side table. "I'll just—see you then."

He stands in the bathroom doorway, staring at her. She lifts her hand for a silly wave goodbye, and hurries out the door. She gets into her own room as quickly as possible and drops her bag.

Her stomach turns over a few times and she leans against the wall, breathing deeply. Her mind is a confused jumble of emotions that she hasn't sorted out yet.

After a moment she strips, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor. She grabs her toiletry kit out of her overnight bag and deposits it on the counter before turning on the shower. She sighs as she steps under the warm water.

She knows she cares about Darcy. She knows she wants him in her life. But, after tonight, she's also virtually certain that he's still in love with her.

After what's happened tonight she knows they can never go back to mere friendship, again. No—if he stays in her life, it will be as something much more than that. From here on out it's all or nothing.

So which will it be? All? Or nothing?

She wonders if there's enough hot water in the hotel to wash away her confusion.

* * *

William tosses and turns long into the night.

He wants to believe that tonight was the beginning of everything he's imagined and hoped for. He wants to believe that, starting in the morning, he and Lizzie will be together. That they'll find a way to make it work.

But he's terrified that instead, tonight may have ruined whatever chances he ever had with her.

He doesn't think he'll ever get to sleep.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who commented, subscribed, and favorited. Your support means a lot, and I really appreciate it. This story, like LBD, is now coming to an end. I hope you enjoy this final segment. And one more thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Kyrie Anne. This story wouldn't be the same without her.

* * *

Lizzie fell asleep wondering if she would want Darcy just as much in the morning, and when she wakes up, her first thought is that that answer is an unequivocal _yes._ Last night made onething clear: they are _very_ physically compatible. It's all the other stuff she's still not sure about.

Her sleep was fitful, and she wakes before dawn. After trying without success to fall back asleep, she gets up to start her day. She's ready to go a little past six.

If Darcy is half as anxious as she is right now, he's probably awake, too. And since the most logical way to solve her current dilemma is to spend more time with him to see how things go, she decides to go ahead and call him.

His voice is rough when he answers. "Lizzie?"

"Hey—did I wake you?"

He clears his throat. "No. I—I woke early."

"Me too. Do you want to get some breakfast together? I promised I'd treat you, after all."

There is silence for a moment, and Lizzie winces, wondering if he read too much into her comment. _I promised I'd _treat_ you_? What the hell was she thinking?

"Um. Yes. Breakfast would be . . . good."

He sounds just as confused and awkward as she feels. This is going to be one big breakfast of awkward.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay," he repeats. "Uh—would you like to go to the hotel restaurant? Or order room service?"

Lizzie wrinkles her nose. The words _room service_ should _not_ be so full of innuendo. He probably didn't intend it. God—this morning is off to such a good start.

"Or maybe there's a Denny's nearby."

"Certainly. Denny's would be good."

_Yes. Yes. Get out of this hotel and into a public place where the hormones can't take over, again. _This is exactly what Lizzie needs. She'll be seeing George in just a couple of hours. She needs a clear head, right now, and being alone in a hotel room with Darcy again will leave her anything but clear-headed.

When she steps out of her room, he's already there, waiting for her, wearing a button down, a tie, and suspenders. He says that his phone has located a Denny's less than two miles away, and Lizzie smiles. Perfect.

* * *

William orders an All American Slam with hardly a glance at the menu, and Lizzie raises an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, I _have_ in fact been to Denny's before. Several times." Though it has been a few years since his last visit. But Lizzie doesn't have to know that.

"So it's not all fine dining and personal chefs, after all?" Her voice has a teasing tone.

William taps his finger on the table, thinking. The issue of their economic disparity clearly troubles her far more than he'd anticipated. But that seems simple in comparison to the fear that kept him awake most of the night—the thought that she'd wake up regretting what had happened. Or worse, that she'd start to believe he took advantage of her in her tipsy and emotionally vulnerable state. Fortunately, neither seem to be the case.

"Money doesn't have to be an issue between us if we don't want it to be," he says, knowing he's oversimplifying. But he is genuinely convinced that the disparity between them is just a minor stumbling block. Surely open and honest dialog will be enough to work through it?

"Who said anything about money?" Lizzie says, putting on one of her exaggeratedly disingenuous faces.

William gives her a pointed look. "I'd like to think I know you well enough by now to understand your subtext."

She looks down and takes a deep breath. "Fine. Yes. It's been bothering me a little."

By which he's pretty certain she means "a lot."

He frowns as he ponders the various lines of reasoning he might take here. "I . . . appreciate the way you spoke up about this at the hotel. You reminded me that I've . . . developed certain habits based on my economic standing, and that those habits don't always accommodate or respect your needs. Please allow me to apologize for that. And also feel free to speak up whenever something I do or say makes you uncomfortable. I value the opportunity to learn and improve, and your honest communication has already been invaluable in that respect. I hope that further honest communication will be enough help our—" he hesitates, not certain what word to apply to their relationship, yet, "—our friendship continue to grow."

"Yeah," she replies. "I think you're probably right about that. As ironic as it is, given my field of study, the biggest thing I've learned about myself over the past year of doing my videos is that I'm not always very good at communicating with the people in my life. Sometimes I forget that talking to the internet isn't the same as talking to real people. And you've been on the bum end of that deal a few too many times. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," he says immediately. He's never desired an apology from her. Yes, admittedly, her videos were a bit humiliating. But he understands exactly why she thought of him the way she did, and exactly why she chose to use him as a topic for discussion on her vlog. He doesn't hold it against her.

She shakes her head. "You might not need to hear it, but I need to say it."

"Well. Then. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She nods, looking satisfied. "And as for the money thing, I'm sorry about getting hung up on that. I guess, after all you're spending on this Lydia thing I feel—indebted. I mean, I heard you talking to my dad about letting him pay some of it back, but it still—feels odd. I don't like feeling indebted to my friends."

He's not surprised that this is the crux of her difficulties. "I understand. But I don't quite know how to solve that problem."

"I don't either." She looks down at the table and toys with her flatware. "Maybe I'll just have to get used to it. I mean—I'm grateful. Don't get me wrong."

"I don't."

"Good. Because I will always be grateful for this. I just . . . I don't want to be . . . dependent. On anyone. I've been dependent on my parents for way too long as it is, and I don't want to just switch that dependence to someone else, you know? I need to know that I can stand on my own." She looks at him imploringly.

His heart races. This isn't just a conversation about "friendship." No—this is Lizzie's way of telling him that she understands just what's at stake, here. She knows exactly what he wants from her—the dreams he's had of building a life together. Of sharing a future.

It's good to know that she finally understands. He only hopes that he understands her, in return.

He thinks for a moment longer before responding. "I understand the desire to . . . stand independently. To make your own success. When my parents passed away I could have lived quite comfortably off the investments in my trust fund. I didn't have to step forward and take over the company. But my parents' decision to move the company into the digital realm—to take on new technologies and new enterprises—it excited me. I wanted to take their vision and make it my own. I wanted to build on what they'd begun. To grow it. To expand it. I wanted to build something for myself—not just to live off of what they left behind. Is that similar to what you're feeling?"

"Yes." Lizzie smiles brightly. "Exactly. I've been a little nervous about grad school ending and having to find a job, but ever since I started these shadowing projects back at Collins and Collins, I've seen how great it can be to get out there and make your own way. I see what Charlotte is accomplishing, and—and," she gestures to him, "I see what you've done at Pemberley, and I think, _that's what I want._ I mean, I don't expect to build something like your company, but for the first time in my life I really feel like I could get out there and _do something._"

The light in her eyes makes his spirit leap and the excitement in her voice is infectious. "I have the utmost confidence that you will find what you're looking for, and that you'll make it extraordinary. I believe in you, Lizzie."

Her mouth hangs slightly open and she shakes her head a little. "I . . ."

Before she can continue, the waitress arrives.

As they eat, William wonders whether the flush on Lizzie's face is from embarrassment at his praise (he really feels that way, but perhaps he overdid it, a bit) or frustration at being interrupted before she could respond. He never gets a chance to find out.

His phone starts to ring when they are only halfway through their meal. The sound of Hall and Oates' classic "Private Eyes" fills the air, and he fumbles to answer. It is Harris. There are signs of movement in the house where George spent the night. If they want to be certain to catch him before he leaves, they need to come soon.

"Very well. Text me the address. We'll be there as soon as possible," says William.

Lizzie flags down their waitress to ask for the check before he even hangs up.

"So it's time?" she asks, breathlessly.

He nods. "It is."

* * *

Lizzie's stomach flips a few times as they head out to the car. She's been imagining what she would do or say if she saw George again for the past week, but now that the moment has arrived she feels at a loss. So she tries to distract herself.

"Seriously, with that ringtone?" she says as Darcy opens the car door for her. (She's noticed that he likes to do all sorts of old-fashioned gentlemanly things—from opening doors and pulling out chairs to defending the honor of his friends and family. She's always liked men with a chivalrous streak.)

He frowns a little while they both get into the car. "It's been a long week. I haven't slept well. And late one night, when I had a little insomnia, I started playing with ringtones. It . . . seemed _apropos_ at the time."

He speaks in the robotic tone that used to bother her so much, but now she realizes it's how he speaks when he's nervous or embarrassed. She smiles at him. "It sounds like something I would have done."

He raises an eyebrow and looks at her.

"Now I'm curious about what _my_ ringtone is," she adds, teasing.

He looks forward again and tucks his chin as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. That one really got to him. Maybe she'll have to dial his number sometime today, just to find out.

She breathes deep as they drive and tries to get her thoughts in order, mentally reviewing the questions she needs to ask. With the burden of her promise to Lydia weighing her down, she knows that this confrontation won't be nearly as satisfying as she once hoped.

"So," she asks, "how exactly is this going to work?"

Darcy is quick to respond. "Harris is a registered process server, so I'm going to give him the court documents, and he'll make the initial approach to the townhome where Wickham spent the night. Once Wickham comes to the door, Harris will serve him with the papers, and then give us a little space. At that point, if Wickham lets us talk to him, we'll talk. And if he doesn't . . . well . . . I'm not certain."

Lizzie nibbles on the inside of her bottom lip as she thinks. George won't refuse to talk to them. She's seen the videos. She knows how arrogant and manipulative he is. He'll try to talk his way out of this—she knows he will. "Do you know what you're going to say to him?"

"I have some ideas," he says. "I've tried working it out in my mind. But it's hard to know exactly what to say in such cases until you actually face them."

"Yes." Lizzie nods. "That's pretty much where I'm at, too." She shakes her head. "I'm not exactly _scared_ of him. No." She clenches her hands on her thighs. "I'm not _scared_ at all. Just—anxious. And confused. I used to really like George. And now, to see him again under these circumstances . . . it's just . . . surreal."

"I understand," replies Darcy in a soft voice. "When I found him with Gigi it was like something out of a bad dream. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing with my own eyes."

"Were you . . ." Lizzie swallows, and then plunges forward with one of the questions she's been wanting to ask for a long time, ". . . were you and George very close, when you were friends? How did all that work?"

Darcy's knuckles look white as they grip the steering wheel. "Our fathers were very close, and we spent quite a lot of time together, as boys. He's two years younger than me, but I was very shy as child, so it was comfortable to be friends with him, because our families spent so much time together. His mother left when he was very young, and my parents wanted to help, so they gave him scholarships to attend the same prep schools that I went to, and we would play together in the evenings and over the summer."

Lizzie can hear the discomfort in Darcy's voice as he recounts the story, but she doesn't interrupt. She's too fascinated by this hidden piece of the history he shares with George.

"When I entered high school, I finally overcame enough of my shyness to find some good friends, and at that age the two year difference between us seemed more significant, so we drifted apart. When he finally followed me to high school, I tried to mentor him. I helped him prepare to try out for the swim team and tried to introduce him to some of the academic clubs I belonged to, but he showed little interest in them. Though he was only fourteen, it was clear that his interests lay primarily in partying and girls. He'd changed, and I didn't care for the changes. Over the next few years I watched him learn to manipulate everyone in his social circle—to take advantage of them using his charm and wit. And I also saw the way he took advantage of my parents' generosity." He shook his head. "For their sake, I tried to remain friendly with him, but all true friendship between us had already ended. Then . . . his father died of a heart attack during his junior year of high school. I'd already left for Harvard, so my parents took him in. They let him live in the house, and promised to continue to fund his education through college."

He squeezes his lips together and falls silent for a moment before continuing. "I didn't like the way he used the tragedy of his father's death to gain special favors. Not just from my parents. I know for a fact that he used his story of woe to successfully seduce several girls who should have known better. And Gigi idolized him." He pauses again, gritting his teeth, and Lizzie feels his pain.

The story of George's life almost makes her want to feel sorry for him. But others have had lives with just as much tragedy—like Gigi and Darcy. They never used their losses to try to manipulate or take advantage of others. No. That was just George. His past was no justification for what he'd done. "You don't have to tell me the rest. Gigi covered the essentials."

Darcy nods silently, and Lizzie begins to realize that when he told her family that he feels responsible for George's actions, he wasn't lying. After all their history together, it's understandable that he still thinks of George as one of his problems. As one of his mistakes.

They drive in silence until they park across the street from the townhome where George is supposed to be staying.

Lizzie's stomach churns as she steps out of the car, and she wishes that she'd skipped breakfast.

A short, swarthy man with a bushy mustache steps out of a nearby parked car and walks up to shake Darcy's hand. Darcy introduces him as Harris, the private investigator.

"He's been in there since late last night," says Harris. "It's just a friend's house—no girls, so you won't have to worry about that awkwardness." He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels.

Lizzie is grateful for the news. Having some other poor girl hanging off of George's arm would make her task almost impossible.

Darcy hands over the paperwork to Harris, who shuffles through it and makes a few notations on a clipboard before heading up to the townhome door.

Lizzie's stomach continues to roll around inside of her as she waits for someone to answer the door. She and Darcy stand together in the street, looking up at the porch from a slight distance. Too close and not close enough all at once. She reaches out and grasps Darcy's hand to steady her nerves.

He glances down at her for just a moment and squeezes her hand lightly before looking back up at the door.

It swings open to reveal a shirtless and sleepy looking guy in his twenties. The man frowns when Harris asks for George, and turns to yell, "Wicks! Come here. Some guy wants to talk to you."

The shirtless guy steps back into the house and Lizzie sucks in a deep breath through her nose as she clenches her teeth and squeezes Darcy's hand.

Then he appears.

George is wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt that Lizzie's seen on him before, but now it looks like a costume. She knows who is really inside those innocuous clothes.

George rubs his eyes and yawns as Harris hands him the documents and asks for a signature. After a confused frown, George signs, and only then glances up to notice Lizzie and Darcy.

She holds her breath and watches as his mouth hangs open. "What the . . . ?" Then he glances back down at the papers and starts flipping through them.

Harris walks back down the porch steps and nods at Darcy as he passes. Darcy nods back.

Lizzie wonders how they can look so nonchalant about all this, when she's going crazy on the inside.

"You're suing me?" George exclaims. "And you came here to gloat about it?!" He stares at Darcy, aghast.

Darcy lets go of her hand and meets George's gaze. "Essentially, yes."

"This is seriously fucked up—even for you." George steps to the edge of the porch, but doesn't come down.

Darcy steps up onto the sidewalk. "I wanted to be here to make sure you understand that you will never be permitted to hurt anyone even remotely connected to me _ever again_. Is that clear?"

George rolls his eyes and scowls before turning his gaze to Lizzie. "So I guess you're the one who talked Lydia into this? She never would have done this on her own."

"It wasn't me," replies Lizzie, stepping up beside Darcy. "It was Gigi." She takes grim satisfaction at the range of emotions that flash across his face. Why was she so nervous about this? Now that she's here she can see how small and powerless he really is. He's nothing.

George narrows his eyes. "I see what's going on here." He points at Darcy. "He has you ganging up on me. He's obsessed with me, you know?" His eyes meet Lizzie's again. "His parents always liked me better than they liked him, and he can't get over it. He won't stop until he ruins me."

Lizzie rolls her eyes at George's blatant attempts at manipulation.

So George changes tactics. "So—you and Darcy, huh? I never thought you'd turn out to be a gold-digger. You Bennet girls sure get around."

Lizzie sees red. She's halfway up the four porch steps before she realizes that she's moved.

"Don't you dare insult my sisters. Ever. For any reason. You have no right to say or even think anything relating to us. Got it?" Her words come out in a snarl.

"This isn't my fault!" George replies, deflecting her words. "Do you think I wanted to do this?"

This is the question she came here to ask. She raises her hands at her sides. "I don't know, George. I have no idea why you did this. Lydia—she wants me to ask you why. Why did you do this to her?"

George squeezes his lips together and shakes his head. "I didn't plan this, Lizzie. You have to believe me. When I ran into her in Las Vegas, I hung out with her because I like her. She's a fun, sexy girl. I didn't have some nefarious plan in mind, no matter what Darcy might have told you. But after she left I ran into some guys I owe money to, and they were hassling me, so I needed to get out of there. And Lydia seemed to want me around, so I followed her to lay low for a while." He holds her gaze. "Lizzie—I really care about Lydia. I do."

"If you really cared about her you wouldn't have betrayed her trust like this. You wouldn't have tried to exploit her for money." Lizzie can't hide the bitterness in her voice, nor does she want to. He's still on the porch, a couple of steps above her, and she hates the way he's looking down her. But she doesn't want to get any closer. She can't stand the thought of even coming close to touching him again—unless it's with her fist.

"These guys are serious," he says emphatically. "They wanted to _hurt me,_ Lizzie. I had to get the money somehow. I was desperate. When they tracked me down in your town, I panicked. And I knew a guy in the video company—"

"Of course you did," Lizzie mutters under her breath.

"—and when I mentioned my relationship with your sister to him and show him her follower count and her stats and stuff, he told me a tape could bring in big money. Enough to make my problems go away." George hits her with his best puppy-dog eyes. "I was in serious trouble. I was desperate. I needed that money. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Really."

Lizzie squeezes her lips together and shakes her head. It's just as bad as what she thought. Lydia was nothing more than a means to an end, for him. He didn't see her as a person—just as an object to be used and tossed aside. "Well, you did hurt people, George. You hurt them a lot."

George suddenly perks up. "Hey—wait—we can still make this right. The video company paid me enough up front that combined with selling my car, I was able to pay off my debts. My slate is clean. Those guys aren't after me anymore, and the tape doesn't have to go up. Your lawsuit will block it. Just—drop me from the suit. I'll make a fresh start. I'll find a way to make it up to Lydia. Really—I care about her. I'll—I'll find a job and settle down. I'm ready to start over. Lizzie, please, just get this fanatic to drop my name from the lawsuit." He points at Darcy again, anger flashing in his eyes.

For a moment, Lizzie had almost sympathized with him. But that final expression on his face tells her all she needs to know. He'll say anything—_do anything_—to protect himself. And say anything and do anything to hurt Darcy. Nothing else matters to him.

Lizzie's not sure if she's ever met a clinical sociopath before, but she's pretty sure she knows one now. And now that she realizes what he is, she knows in her heart that he'll never really change—no matter how many second chances he's given.

She takes a deep breath, calming her anger. Anger won't do any good, here. "No, George. We won't drop the suit. You need to face the consequences of your choices."

He shakes his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "No. No way. This is bullshit. Lydia would never do this to me. I'm going to call her and talk to her. She'll change her mind."

"She signed the papers, George," says Lizzie, suddenly nervous. "She made her decision."

He throws his hands up, the court documents flapping in the breeze. "But the tape is stopped. This stops it. You both know I'm broke. You can't do this to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie sees Darcy move closer to stand on the step just behind her. "Yes, we can," he says in a soft, controlled voice. He places his hand lightly on the small of her back, and Lizzie feels stronger immediately.

"Haven't you already done enough?" George pleads. "If it hadn't been for you I'd still be with Gigi, and we'd be happy. How many times do you have to ruin me?"

"I think your memory of the end of your relationship with my sister is faulty, if you believe you'd still be together." Darcy is in full-on robot mode, and Lizzie thinks it means that he's struggling to control his emotions. She can't blame him.

"It's time to accept responsibility for the consequences of your actions," Lizzie says firmly, doubting that the true meaning of her words will ever make it past George's wall of self-centered defensiveness.

"I could say the same for you," George spits back. "If you hadn't bad-mouthed me all over the internet, maybe I'd have had other options. And you treated Lydia like shit. Maybe she wouldn't need rescuing if you hadn't been such a bitch to her in the first place."

Lizzie's jaw drops. "Now you're actually blaming _me_? To my face? You're blaming me?" She's never wanted to strangle someone more in her whole life. The nerve—the audacity!

She's still fumbling for a more articulate response (other than slapping the smirk right off of his face), when Darcy takes her elbow and says, "This conversation is over. You should find a lawyer. My legal team will be contacting you early next week."

"Fuck you," George snaps.

"I assure you, the feeling is mutual," replies Darcy.

He gently but firmly leads Lizzie away from the porch. A part of her wants to yell at him for being so damn controlling, but she also knows that continuing the argument with George would have gotten them nowhere.

As they approach the car, George shouts one final barb after them. "After all the money you're spending on this, Lizzie better be a fantastic fuck. She never let me get past second base."

Lizzie freezes. It's as if she can hear a train rushing in her head. Her heart pounds. She clenches her fists. "I am so going to kick his ass."

She begins to turn, but Darcy tightens the grip on her elbow. "Get in the car, Lizzie. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your anger. It's what he wants. Don't give him what he wants."

Lizzie squeezes her eyes shut and trembles for a moment. Darcy is right. She knows he is. And she hates it.

With a huff of frustration she breaks free of his grip and stomps around to the passenger side, letting herself in. She sinks into her seat, staring away from George, and Darcy gets in and starts the car. He pulls away from the curb, and Lizzie doesn't look back.

* * *

William seethes with anger. He drives without thinking, following the roads and responding to traffic signals without any thought as to where he is going. All his brain has room for right now is his rage. His utter disgust at George's pathetic rationalizations and vicious attacks. If Lizzie hadn't been there, he very well might have resorted to physical violence. Even now he feels the urge to slam his fist into something.

After a few minutes he collects himself enough to say, "I am . . . very sorry for the things he said to you. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Lizzie shakes her head. "Why are you apologizing? It's not like you could control what he said."

"I just—I feel like someone ought to apologize."

"Okay," she says quietly. A moment later she frowns. "God. I've got to call Lydia."

Before he has time to ask if she'd like some privacy, her phone is in her hand. A few moments later, Lydia answers her call.

William feels somewhat voyeuristic listening to this private conversation, though he can only hear one side.

"We just did it," says Lizzie.

A pause.

"No. I'm sorry. He was—god, Lydia. I'm sorry. He was pretty awful." Another pause. "No. He said . . . he didn't plan it. Not from the start. Did you know he had some loan shark thugs after him? Well, he did. And he came to town to hide out from them. The video was his oh-so-brilliant fast-money scheme to pay them off. I'm so, so sorry."

William frowns and clenches his teeth during the next long pause. He can only imagine what Lydia is feeling right now. He has a pretty good idea that it won't be too far different from how Gigi felt after George left. William wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"I'm so, so, sorry. But you're going to be okay. I'm here and Jane is here and you have Dad and Mary. We'll get you through this. I'll be home later today." Lizzie pauses again. "He . . . he might try to call you, to talk you into backing out of the lawsuit. No. No. I understand. Just . . . don't answer, okay? Get Jane to take you out. Leave your phone behind. Or better yet, go change your phone number." Lizzie shakes her head. "Yeah. Maybe that's a little extreme. I just worry about you. I love you. Okay. See you later today. Bye."

Lizzie sighs and rubs her eyes after hanging up. She looks exhausted.

William's heart is tight in his chest. He wishes there was something he could do to ease her pain, even if just a little.

"Lizzie, is there anything you want? Anywhere you want to go?" he asks.

"Um. . ." She fidgets with her hands in her lap. "Where are we?"

"I have no idea," he confesses. "My mind hasn't really been on the drive."

"Look! We're right by the beach. Let's go there. I haven't been to the beach in a few years."

William quickly makes the turn into the public parking lot adjoining the beach and pulls into a space. "Are you sure you want to go the beach? The weather is hardly ideal."

"I'm sure," she says, already unbuckling her seatbelt. "I think a little sea air is exactly what I need to wash the taste of that conversation out of my mouth."

William follows her out of the car and onto the beach. It's a windy, overcast February day, and Lizzie's lightweight top hardly seems adequate to keep her warm. But she seems determined, so he voices no protest.

She walks far onto the beach and stops just beyond where the steady waves roll onto the sand. She folds her arms for warmth, and stares out at the ocean, her ponytail waving in the wind like a banner.

He stands beside her and tries to ignore the irksome flapping of his tie. In many ways, Lizzie is still a mystery to him. He has no idea what she's thinking, and therefore has no idea what to say to her.

An occasional jogger or dog-walker passes by, but, other than the ubiquitous seagulls, they are largely alone.

After a few minutes at staring at the relentless waves, Lizzie speaks. "George will never change, will he? He'll never really learn anything from all of this."

William sighs and nods. "I'm afraid you're right. I've hoped, many times, that he would mature out of this kind of malicious behavior. But I gave up believing it would ever happen after the incident with Gigi." He can still remember the look on George's face that day. The way he'd stared into William's eyes, silently taunting him throughout Gigi's brave, hopelessly naïve speech. "After he took my check and left, and I saw what it did to Gigi, I wished that George had turned down the money. I would've hated having George in my life like that, but at least Gigi wouldn't have felt so used. Like she was an object that could be bought and sold, and nothing more. Maybe she would have been better off if I'd never offered him that money." The wind picks up and the sound of the water beating against the sand fills his ears.

"No. She wouldn't be. George is a manipulative, emotionally abusive douche bag. Who knows what kind of damage he would have done to her if you hadn't stepped in when you did?" Lizzie's opinion is firm, and it helps reassure him. He's second-guessed his actions that day for two years, now. He's still not entirely comfortable with it, but having Lizzie's support helps.

Lizzie looks down and kicks at the sand a few times. "Did Gigi tell you about her arrangement with Lydia?"

Her words seem strangely ominous. "What arrangement?"

"She promised Lydia that she'd pay all of George's legal expenses. It was the only way Lydia would agree to sign the papers."

William chokes and sputters. "She . . . I can't . . . this is . . ." He closes his eyes and clenches his fists at his sides. "If George ever finds out the money came from Gigi, he'll take as a sign that she still cares for her. He'll try to worm his way back into her life. I know him. I know what he'll do. How could she do this?"

Lizzie rests her hand on his arm. "Hey—she was just trying to help Lydia. Don't get mad at her."

"I'm not mad. I'm just concerned. You know how persuasive George can be."

"I do. I'm worried, too. But there's got to be something you can do? Some way to keep him out of all of our lives for good?" Her grip tightens on his arm. "Maybe a restraining order, or something?"

William nods, glad that she can still use logic in the face of all their tumultuous emotions. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll contact Tilney first thing on Monday about the possibility of restraining orders. Lydia would have to be involved again—"

"I'll talk to her," says Lizzie. "I'll make sure it happens."

"Good. Good." He nods, feeling as if he can breathe again.

After all that George has done, surely they can obtain restraining orders for Gigi and Lydia? Tilney will know how to make it happen.

Lizzie leans against his side. "God, I hate everything about this situation."

"As do I," he says, though it's not entirely true. He'll never regret the time he's spent with her.

As if echoing his thoughts, Lizzie says, "Well—I'm glad for the time we've had together. The circumstances just make it less enjoyable than I would have wanted."

Her words are enough to lighten his spirits considerably.

After a few more moments of silent contemplation, Lizzie says, "I'm going wading." She promptly pulls away from him and sat down to remove her shoes and roll up the legs of her jeans.

"Are you sure? It's February, and the wind is quite bracing." He hates stating the obvious, but she seems ready to defy logic and freeze herself.

"I know. It'll be just the thing to shock me out this depressed funk," she replies. "Come on. Do it with me."

William has no desire to wade into frigid water, but when Lizzie jumps to her feet and charges forward, emitting a high pitched exclamation when she hits the water, he feels compelled to follow.

* * *

Lizzie was right—the cold water does shock her right out of her depression.

She stands ankle deep in the chilly water and lets the incoming waves strike her mid-calf, just below her rolled up jeans. The ocean reminds her that no matter how bad she felt this morning—no matter how horrible George is and how much he hurt Lydia—life will keep on going. Eventually, everything will be okay.

After a few moments, Darcy splashes up beside her, his pants carefully rolled up just under his knees. He wears a slight frown, and he picks his feet up and down gingerly while his wind-driven tie continues to flap around his face. She's not sure if she's ever seen him so awkward and uncomfortable since that October night when he sat staring at her camera for a few moments after she'd proclaimed her hatred for him and then told him about her videos.

It still amazes her how much has changed since that night. And it amazes her that after everything she said about him and did to him, he still cares about her enough to wade into the cold ocean for her.

She smiles up at him. "I didn't think you'd come in."

"I'm still not entirely certain why I did." He wears a bewildered scowl that makes her want to laugh and hug him.

Her heart jumps.

William Darcy may not be the sort of man she ever pictured herself falling for, but as he stands there shivering at the onslaught of the waves, all for her sake, she can't deny that she really has fallen for him.

She's starting to wonder why she keeps fighting it—why does she dwell on the problems and the obstacles? Does she really need to figure out all the answers beforehand, or can they work them out later, together?

After seeing George this morning, the contrast between a truly good man and one who only pretends to be couldn't be clearer.

William is an undeniably good man. An honest man. A thoughtful man. An intelligent man. A sweet man. A man who can push her buttons—both good and bad—like no one else. A man with whom she feels completely safe. And a man who is almost certainly in love with her.

Why not take this chance?

She grips his upper arm and uses her free hand to gesture for him to lean in closer. He raises one eyebrow and ducks his head toward her.

As soon as he is close enough she cradles his jaw in her palm and stretches up to kiss him.

For a moment they wobble and Lizzie is afraid they'll tumble into the water, but then Darcy grips her hips with his hands and steadies them both. The first kiss didn't last long, but once they are stable, their lips meet again.

His kiss sends the same dizzying heat through her body as it did last night. It feels familiar and comfortable and new and exciting all at once.

After a few moments they part again, and she smiles at the gleam in his eyes. "I just wanted to see if that would be as good sober as it was buzzed," she says. After a short pause she adds, "And for the record, it absolutely was."

He smiles wide enough for his dimples to show. "Good."

A new gust of wind hits them and Lizzie shivers. "I think I've had enough of this water."

They slosh out of the surf and carry their dry shoes to a nearby picnic table. They sit on the bench, rest their backs against the table, and stretch out their bare feet to let them air dry for a few minutes. When Lizzie shivers again, William wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

"I'm not glad about what sent us on this trip," he says, "but I am glad we got to spend this time together."

"Me too," says Lizzie. "Other than the whole George part, I think this might have even been better than a date to the theater."

His eyebrows knit and he slowly and deliberately says, "So—there would have been a date to the theater?"

"Yes," she replies. "Yes, there would have been."

"I am very happy to hear that."

He kisses her again—slow and deep, in a way that makes her heart feel ready to leap out of her chest.

They're in public, and Lizzie knows this can't get too intense, but the feeling of his fingers gliding up and down her arms and his body pressing against hers as his tongue slides into her mouth sets her whole body on fire.

After a few minutes William gently pulls back, resting his forehead against hers for just a moment before looking down into her eyes. His smile flashes across his face briefly before he dons a more serious expression.

"I don't want to ruin the moment," he says. "But I feel like I need a little clarification on the nature of our relationship."

Of course he does. Who wouldn't, in his position? She nods. "Okay."

He pulls back a little further, as if trying to assume a slightly more professional stance. "I—I feel that I need to tell you that I'm not looking for a . . . casual relationship. I don't want something born of nothing but the heightened emotions of our current situation."

"I don't want that either," she says quickly.

"I'm happy to hear it." His smile flickers back onto his face for just an instant before vanishing again. "Lizzie—I feel like you deserve to know: I still feel the same way I did in the fall. More strongly even than before. I want things between us to be serious, and meaningful, and if you still don't think that's something you want with me then—"

Lizzie silences him with a kiss. His words have confirmed everything she already believed, and they've only strengthened her resolve.

She trusts William not to hurt her. She trusts him to know just how special this second chance really is. For both of them.

She pulls back. "I want to be with you. Not just for a casual relationship, and not just because of heightened emotions. I've been falling for you ever since I saw you again at Pemberley. Maybe even since you gave me that letter. I'm not sure. It's been coming on so gradually that I didn't know it was happening until I was in the middle of it." It's scary to lay herself bare like this, but William did it first. Twice. She has nothing to be afraid of. She takes a deep breath. "I'm. . . not sure if I'm at the same place as you, yet, so I need you to be patient with me. But—I want to try this. I want to see where it goes. I want to be with you."

His smile is full of a disbelieving wonder that makes him look years younger. Lizzie feels lightheaded and giddy.

She watches him struggle to find a response several times before he gives up and kisses her again.

Another gust of wind tosses a few locks of her hair into both their mouths, and they pull apart laughing.

"Maybe we should head back to the hotel to check out," she says. "I did promise Lydia I'd come home soon. Though I wish we could stay."

"I wish we could stay, too. But your sister needs you. I'll get you home."

* * *

William can hardly believe what's happening. He keeps looking over at Lizzie as he drives, just to make sure she's really there.

Things like this don't happen to him. He still isn't entirely sure he deserves it. But he's going to take this chance and make the most of it. He won't let this relationship slip through his fingers.

"So what should I call you?" Lizzie asks, grinning at him. "It seems weird to keep calling you Darcy. So should it be William, or Will?"

"No one calls me Will," he says quickly. The only person who ever called him anything other than "William" or "Darcy" was his mother, who called him Willy. He hated that nickname growing up, but now he misses it.

"Can I?" Lizzie asks.

_Will._ He lets the word roll around in his brain a little. It feels a little strange, but not unpleasantly so.

"Very well," he says. "But only in private—just the two of us. In public I'd prefer to be called William."

"I think I can manage that. Will." Her eyes sparkle, and a thrill runs down his spine.

He wishes he didn't have to take her home, yet. He doesn't want this to end. But it's not his place to push her, right now. Her sister needs her. That has to come first.

When they get back to the hotel they head to their rooms to collect their bags. William walks Lizzie to her door, and as she opens her door to step inside she pulls him toward her and stretches up for another kiss.

He still feels a thrill every time they touch.

He presses her against her partially open door and it swings wide. They laugh as they almost fall, stumbling back into her room.

"As long as we're here," says Lizzie suggestively, pulling him toward the bed. "We can spare a few more minutes."

William's heart is in his throat as he joins her on the bed, kissing her with the full fervor of months of pent-up longing. There's no alcohol clouding their minds this time. No confusions or misgivings. They can finally just be together, the way he's always imagined.

* * *

All the anxiety and frustration of the past week melts away as Lizzie sinks into William's embrace. She rests in the crook of his arm and he lies on his side next to her, their legs intertwining as they kiss.

Everything about this feels right. And she wants more. Much more.

She's tired of letting fear hold her back. She's tired of fixating on the lives of everyone else in her sphere instead of living her own. She's sick of hang-ups and worries and anxiety. She has hundreds of thousands of followers who believe in her. Maybe it's time to listen to them and to trust herself to make a big decision without second guessing. Maybe it's time to just go for it.

When his lips migrate to her jaw line, she says what she's been thinking for the past few minutes. "I want you."

He freezes and slowly pulls back to meet her eyes. His breath comes in quick gasps, as if he's been running too quickly. "Lizzie . . . I'm not certain if I understand . . . ?"

"I want to have sex. Right now. Is that clear enough?"

His pupils darken and his breath is hot against her cheek. "Yes. Yes. But you don't need to . . . I don't expect things to move this fast. Really—if you're doing this for me—"

"Ugh." She closes her eyes and shakes her head in frustration. "No. It's not for you. Well, not entirely for you." She meets his eyes. "Look, I've only been with two guys in my life, and I moved slowly with both of them. This isn't normal for me. But nothing that used to be normal feels right anymore. This past year has turned me upside down and inside out and I'm just not who I used to be. But I know who I want to be, and I know what I want, and I'm sick of waiting. I want to be with you. In every possible meaning of that word. I want it for me. I want it for us. I won't pressure you if you're not ready, but—"

That's when he takes her breath away with another kiss.

For the next few minutes everything is heat and touching and laughing as they pull at each other's clothes. She tosses his tie over the headboard, and her shirt ends up somewhere on the floor.

She grins and gasps as his lips make their way across her chest, his teeth teasing at her nipples through the lace of her bra. She tugs him back up and gets to work on his buttons when he freezes.

"Wait."

Lizzie frowns. "What is it?"

He closes his eyes, his expression suddenly serious. "I don't have any protection."

"Oh." All those high school health class slides come flooding back into her mind.

"I'm sorry," he says, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "I didn't expect . . . I didn't plan . . ."

"It's okay. Really," she caresses his cheek. "It's good that you didn't expect anything to happen. I like that. I didn't expect anything either. I'm no more prepared than you are. But, uh, one of us could go buy some, I guess?"

His responsibility and dependability are part of what she likes so much about him. The fact that those characteristics are still with him at a time like this makes her like him all the more.

"I'll go," he says quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed and fixing his shirt. He stands. "I won't be long. I saw a drugstore two streets over. It'll be fast."

He stares down at her, holding his hands out as if in supplication, like he worries that she'll be gone when he gets back.

Lizzie smiles at him. "I'll wait. Grab one of my key cards on the way out." She points to the cards sitting by the television.

He's ready and gone a few moments later.

Lizzie sits on her knees on top of the bed and brushes some stray strands of hair out of her face.

Wow. She can hardly believe she's doing this.

Her breath shakes as she pulls it in and pushes it out.

Her first lover was her high school sweetheart. They started dating the summer before her senior years, and she lost her virginity with him the night before their senior prom. (She'd insisted on the night before, rather than the night of, so she could actually enjoy her prom instead of stressing about sex the whole time.) They'd gone to the same college together, and kept on dating through to the beginning of their sophomore year. But, as often happens with young love, as they'd gotten older their interests and goals changed, and they drifted apart. They parted amicably just before Thanksgiving their second year in college.

After a long string of casual hang-outs and bad first dates, Lizzie's second lover came into her life toward the end of her third year of college. He shared her major and they became friends while working on a class project together. Over the summer they got internships at the same local television station, and their friendship blossomed into more. They started sleeping together a few weeks after the new school year began. She was head over heels in love, and for a time she began picturing a future together: one where they grew their careers side by side. As partners.

That dream only lasted until the spring, when grad school acceptance letters started coming in. Her boyfriend made it clear that he planned to attend school on the other side of the country—a school Lizzie couldn't possibly afford and couldn't justify getting loans for. He told her that he wasn't ready for a long-distance commitment, but that he hoped they could keep dating until he left. But Lizzie couldn't stand being with him, knowing that he didn't care about her as much as she cared about him. She ended things a month before graduation.

That heartbreak had led to a long dry spell that lasted for most of grad school. Right up until William and George.

The two men that had turned her world upside down.

Just that morning she had permanently (she hoped) ended her association with the one, and now she's on the verge of beginning the third sexual relationship of her lifetime with other, without ever having been on a single real date.

When she thinks about it too much, it seems insane. Ridiculous, even. But when she stops thinking with her head and lets her feelings lead the way, everything starts to make sense. It all feels right.

She doesn't want to think anymore. Not today.

She stands up long enough to remove the rest of her clothing, and then slides under the covers and sighs at the sensation of smooth, cool sheets against her bare skin. She lets a picture of William fill her mind, and slips a hand between her legs, touching herself just enough to stay warm and ready.

* * *

William moves quickly through his task at the drugstore, and manages to ignore the knowing smirk of the older female checker as he buys a single box of condoms and nothing more.

During his drive back to the hotel he glances at the clock on the dash and notices that it is only just ten-thirty in the morning. And his first kiss with Lizzie came slightly after ten-thirty last night.

It hardly seems possible that his life has changed so much in a mere twelve hours. Like something out of a fantasy he'd concocted in his mind. Yet the hum of the car and the beach sand still coating the floor mats and the rattle of the box of condoms in its plastic shopping bag remind him with perfect clarity that this really is his life.

Lizzie really is waiting for him.

She wants him. And she wants to be with him.

None of what has happened in the past twelve hours conforms to any of the patterns or standards that William once expected for his life or his relationships. And while on the one hand this degree of spontaneity makes him anxious, on the other hand, it makes him feel free.

He does his best to hide his small purchase in his hands as he walks through the hotel lobby and rides the elevator. He doesn't want the idle judgments of any onlookers to sully what is about to happen.

When he walks down the hall to her room, he takes deep breaths to steady himself, and resolves to be supportive and loving if she's changed her mind. Because there's nothing wrong with that. Really. He might need a cold shower, but he can handle it.

He steps inside the room and carefully slips the "Do Not Disturb" sign over the outer door handle before allowing himself to look at the bed.

After another bracing breath, he turns, still clutching his noisy shopping bag in both hands.

Lizzie is in bed, the covers tucked up under her arms—and her shirt is still on the floor.

William swallows and takes a few hesitant steps forward. "I'm back."

"I see that." She sits up, holding the covers against her chest. She smiles at him, and his heart feels ready to burst.

"I just want to make sure—that—that you haven't—" His voice trails off and his breath catches in his throat as she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, leaving the covers behind.

She stands before him, completely nude, and she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I haven't changed my mind."

His eyes remain riveted on her as she walks toward him, wearing only a shy smile that seems completely at odds with her actions.

It is only when she stands immediately in front of him that he begins to breathe again. "Lizzie—" He gulps. "—you are breathtaking."

"And you," she replies, stepping even closer as her smile grows more confident and playful, "are wearing far too many clothes."

She pulls the shopping bag from his hands and tosses it onto the bed before pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders and going to work on his buttons.

Together, they make quick work of removing his clothes. Once they stand face to face with nothing but air between them, William lets go of his last shreds of anxiety and doubt. This will work. They'll make it work. Together.

For a few minutes he loses himself in soft kisses, tentative caresses and whispered words. A fire builds inside of him, and soon he's ready for more.

Sweeping his hands under her rear, he lifts Lizzie until their eyes meet. She grins eagerly and wraps her legs around his waist. They share a deep, lingering kiss, and her teeth tug at his bottom lip as he carries her to the bed.

William takes his time. He won't rush this. He wants to show her with every touch and every kiss just how much she means to him.

He loses all track of time. Twenty minutes might have passed before Lizzie finally pushes him down and straddles him—or it might have been two hours.

She rips the condom packet open with her teeth with a wanton look in her eyes that almost undoes him, and he shakes as she rolls it over his shaft. When their bodies finally merge, nothing in his life has ever felt more right.

Sometime later, they lie on their sides, still savoring the peace and relaxation they've found in each other's arms. William wants to tell her how much he loves her. He wants to tell her that this is what he wants to do every day for the rest of his life.

But she asked him for patience. So he will be patient.

"I'm really happy," he says.

Lizzie meets his eyes with a radiant smile. "Me too."

* * *

It's William who finally prods Lizzie out of bed by reminding her that she promised Lydia she'd get home.

"I know, I know," she grumbles, as she stands up and walks to the bathroom to clean up. A selfish little part of her wants to stay here with William, to make the most of this unexpected privacy. But another part of her feels more than a little guilty for being so ridiculously happy when her sisters are still hurting.

She hopes they'll be happy for her. No. She _knows_ they'll be happy for her. She only wishes they could be happy for themselves, too.

Once they're dressed and ready, Lizzie insists on driving. "I like driving," she says, "and you hogged the wheel the whole way here. It's my turn."

William simply smiles and nods and opens the driver's side door for her.

He keeps shifting his legs, and looks more than a little antsy when they hit the highway, but he's good enough not to complain.

Lizzie smiles at him and reaches out to squeeze his hand. "Do you think you can stick around for the rest of the weekend?" she asks. "I need to spend some time with my sisters, but I'm sure I can squeeze some time in for you."

"I fully intend to stay through the weekend. Possibly even through the week."

Her heart leaps. She's feeling possessive, at the moment. She wants all of him that she can get. "Are you sure?"

He smiles one of his real, dimpled, smiles. "Absolutely. I can telecommute. My company is very used to having me telecommute."

Lizzie laughs as she remembers all those months he spent at Netherfield, and how clueless she'd been that he'd stayed so long mostly for her. "Good. I like having you around, William Darcy."

"I like having you around, too, Lizzie Bennet."

There will be complications—there always are. Lizzie's sure they will still be moments of discomfort based on their economic differences. And she doesn't doubt that he'll still manage to offend her family on occasion—and they him. Her mother will probably insist on inviting him for dinner almost every night this week, and Lizzie won't hear the end of the _I-told-you-so's _from Charlotte and Lydia (and maybe even a few from Jane). It might take time for Jane to find a new job, and it will certainly take time for Lydia to finish recovering from the hurt George inflicted on her. Plus, Lizzie still has no idea what her final independent study will be.

But all those problems that would have plagued her mind just yesterday no longer feel like such a big deal.

Right now, cruising down the highway, holding William's hand, everything feels just right.

The end


End file.
